


Honeybee

by Leninouche



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cowboooooys, Geralt has a Farm and is basically a cowboy, Jaskier is a country singer, M/M, Slow Burn, Western AU, Yee Haw, and experience the real cowboy tm life, and geralt hates country, probably, roach makes appearances, so jaskier sees that as an invitation to move in with geralt, we'll see where this goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25246711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leninouche/pseuds/Leninouche
Summary: “She didn’t tell you?”“Tell me what?!”“Oh.. oh this is kind of awkward now… see, after our conversation last night, I decided that you were right. I may have written about an idealized version of country life. And there is only one way to improve for my next album! I must learn the real way! And that is where you come in!”Jaskier stood there, arms extended and grinning brilliantly.“Oh. No. No I can’t–”“Do not fret! You won’t even know I am here! I’ll just follow you around everywhere and make sure I get the complete experience so that my next album will be an absolute banger! Now, where is your spare-bedroom?”Western AU: Jaskier decides to move in with his cowboy crush to learn all about the real cowboy life. Only for research reasons, naturally.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 25
Kudos: 54





	1. Write your Name on my Truck

**Author's Note:**

> The song used in this chapter is Honeybee by Blake Shelton.  
> A lovely friend of mine sent it to me and told me about her idea for a Geraskier Western AU.  
> In a way, you're my Raven now xDD  
> Anyways, we sorta write it together and I'm so excited to see where this is going??  
> SO yeah, hope yall have fun reading this :)

Brown earth.  
Swathes of green trees in the distance.  
Deepest blue above, dotted with fluffy white.  
Thin rays of sun piercing the fresh air.  
Geralt took in the scene and let out a heavy sigh. He stood on the veranda attached to his creaky old house, holding a cup of freshly brewed coffee in his hand and observed the morning.  
Mornings, he found, were the greatest part of the day.  
So peaceful. So fresh.  
So special.  
And out here, miles from the next town, nestled in between gentle hills and bordered by two strong rivers, Geralt knew that, apart from him, the only creatures experiencing this glorious sunrise were his horses and his cows and maybe some birds.  
This land was his, and he belonged to it in return. Not only judicially, also emotionally.  
He took another sip of coffee, relishing the spice on his tongue. Soon another day of hard work and exhaustion would begin, but thanks to this moment, Geralt knew he would be ready for every challenge.  
Ah.  
Silence.  
So blissful.  
So comforting.  
So—  
The front door banged open, sending a shiver through the dinky walls.  
„Geralt! Geralt?! Get out a decent outfit! Tonight we’re going to fucking party!”.“

‘Fucking party’, in Yennefer’s world, apparently meant joining the sad little crowd in the most depressing pub in town for a round of watered-down whiskey.  
Geralt hated it the second Yennefer’s van pulled up outside of the building.  
“No.”, he had said, turning his head towards his friend.  
“On the contrary. You’re coming in with me and you’re gonna have fun.”  
“Drive me home.”  
“Get out of the van.”  
“Yennefer.”  
She laid off trying to grab her bag from the backseat for a moment and instead fixed Geralt with a piercing look.  
“Geralt.”  
Impatiently, she combed her raven locks out of her face.  
“You haven’t had proper human contact in weeks now and, frankly, after walking in on you conversing with your horse the other day, I’m a little worried for your well-being.”  
“Her name is Roach.”  
“You see, that only proves my point. Now get. Out. And get me my bag, dearest, will you?”  
Since he had no other means of getting back home than either walking or waiting for the blissful moment Yennefer would decide her little socializing-experiment had failed, he decided to submit to his fate. But not without showing how much to his dislike that was.  
Grumbling under his breath he exited the car, slammed the door shut only to open the other one behind it.  
“Thanks.”, Yennefer hushed when Geralt handed her the bag.  
For the first time he had the opportunity to properly admire her outfit, which consisted of a shiny black dress and impossibly high heels, which Yennefer had somehow managed to drive in. Geralt never understood how she managed it. Her hair, as usual, was open and flowing freely in the gentle evening breeze. When she caught his gaze, a frown passed over her even face.  
“I hope seeing this, you regret your own outfit choices thoroughly. Do you actually own anything other than black flannel shirts and dirty jeans?”  
“Absolutely not.”  
“That’s what I thought.”  
Together they walked the few paces towards the bar entrance, neither saying a word. Geralt briefly noticed the sign at the door, advertising tonight’s live-act. The guy must have been somewhat famous, for next to his name hung several newspaper articles and even a badly printed out album cover. `Country-Prodigy Jaskier Dandilion here tonight`, was written boldly all over the sign. `Performing his celebrated album: Write my Name onto your Truck`  
Geralt’s eyebrows shot up so fast, it was a miracle they didn’t fly away altogether.  
“You didn’t tell me this was going to be a country concert.”  
“Didn’t? Oh, I must have forgot.”  
“Mhh. Sure.”  
“Shut up it’s going to be fun! I know how much you like getting angry over ‘the unrealistic views on county life that those assholes portray.’”  
She let out a chuckle.  
So she had only brought him here for her own entertainment. Why wasn’t he surprised?

Entering the building, Geralt could already see that the pub was too much for him. Red and blue lights hung all over the ceiling, blinking and flickering according to some secret rhythm. Groups of men in weather-beaten cowboy boots and leather vests and women in dirty, checkered blouses stood around high tables or sat on wooden benches placed all along the walls. They were all chatting with raised voices, all trying to be heard over the western soundtrack music playing from multiple speakers all over the room. It was quite overwhelming. Especially when you tended to not leave your own farm for weeks on end.  
At one end of the room stood a raised platform of minuscule dimensions. Two teenagers with sour faces were currently busy placing a barstool in the middle and arranging a microphone. Once they were done, they disappeared behind a curtain.  
“Two Bloody Maries.”, Yennefer ordered once they had approached the bar.  
“And a strong Whiskey for me. I will not suffer tonight sober.”

“I hope this was worth dragging me all this way out here.”, Geralt murmured after his second Whiskey. They had found a table near the stage and had sat down in silence. Until now, neither had spoken a word.  
“That’s quite an exaggeration. We only drove twenty minutes.”  
“You sound bored.”  
“Well, I am. As it happens, you are not exactly interesting company tonight, Geralt.”  
“Mhh.”  
Geralt took a sip of his drink and turned back towards Yennefer, who was observing him with narrowed eyes. He was never quite sure what was going on inside her head, despite having known her for years now. At times it seemed like he was merely a nuisance to her, but then at other times she suddenly appeared at his house at night, seeking his company and comfort over some unknown conflict.  
Before he could think of anything to say, though, she began to speak.  
“I don’t get why you bury yourself away like that. You’re handsome. Or at least you could be, if you put in some effort. You’re not exactly poor. You have a whole farm to yourself. And yet, you run around smelling like horses and looking, no offense, like a pauper.”  
“Mhh.”  
“All I’m saying is that maybe, just maybe, it would be time for you to meet your princess.”  
“Mh.”  
“Can you at least give me one proper word as an answer?”  
“...No.”  
As Yennefer continued working herself into a rant, Geralt returned to observing the stage. He wasn’t going to bring how much trouble ‘princesses’ had caused Yennefer over the years. How many hours she had wasted getting angry at ex-partners. And how little Geralt was interested in following that example. They had this conversation so often, any argument was pointless by now.  
Suddenly, the music stopped, causing Yennefer to pause.  
The colourful lights went out.  
A hush went through the room.

Later, Geralt would be unable to admit this to himself, but there was something in the man that now entered the stage, that struck him to the core.  
Maybe it was his cornflower blue eyes, that seemed almost white in the spotlight.  
Maybe it were his shapely hands, accentuated by the curled up sleeves.  
Maybe it was his smile that seemed brighter than anything Geralt had ever seen before.  
Whatever it was, Geralt found himself transfixed.  
He watched silently as the man sat down on the stool, carefully balancing his guitar on his lap. Watched how he arranged the microphone in front of him. Watched, as his eyes travelled over the crowd quickly, assessing his audience. Watched as this impossibly blue gaze met his eyes only to linger there for what seemed like minutes.  
Watched as he quickly averted his eyes from Geralt and instead stared down at his guitar with a strange twist to his lips.  
Ignored the burning sensation in his cheeks and the knowledge that Yennefer was scrutinizing him.

And then the song began and Geralt’s paralysis evaporated into slight bewilderedness. He should have guessed by the name of the album, and yet the ludicrous lyrics flowing from those shapely lips surprised him. If it weren’t for the voice, the gentle, soft, liquid-honey-like voice, Geralt would have bolted immediately.  
He was confused.  
He didn’t quite know what made him remain seated.  
Maybe it was the fat that the man on the stage did not fit into this dirty pub at all. And neither did he fit into the song he was just beginning to sing.

“So, I been thinkin' 'bout us  
And you know I ain't good at this stuff  
These feelings pilin' up won't give me no rest”

A nudge from Yennefer catapulted him back to reality and he took a very big sip of Whiskey, grimacing slightly at the taste. Now that the spell of the man’s voice– for the life of him, Geralt couldn’t remember the singer’s name. Wasn’t it something flowery?– had been broken somewhat, Geralt couldn’t help but cringe at the lyrics.

“You'll be my soft and sweet  
I'll be your strong and steady  
You'll be my glass of wine  
I'll be your shot of whiskey”

Geralt drank to that.

“You'll be my sunny day  
I'll be your shade tree  
You'll be my honeysuckle  
I'll be your honey bee”

Once the guitar set in again, Geralt turned towards Yennefer with an expression that conveyed his emotions better than any word in this world ever could. She simply shrugged.  
“Don’t be so judgemental.”  
“Mhhhh.”  
The strangest thing was, that he wasn’t sure whether the man was serious about this song, or whether he was taking the piss. His delicate face was scrunched up slightly in concentration, but whenever he happened to look up and at his audience, there was a strange glint in his eyes.  
Whatever it was, he seemed to be having fun, judging by the grin on his lips.

“Yeah, that came out a little country  
But every word was right on the money  
And I got you smilin' honey right back at me”

Geralt nearly choked on air when he found the singer wink and smile straight at him. It was only for a second, but he was thrown off course so badly, that his glass almost fell out of his hand. He was careful not to look at Yennefer for the rest of the performance.

The rest of the concert– it were only four songs in total– passed by in something of a blur. Geralt did, however, briefly notice that all of them were exactly what he had expected them to be: odes to horses and trucks and lasso-wielding men in tight leather jackets in cornfields and strange flirtatious promises involving going for a bath in a mountain lake surrounded by twenty sheep.  
In summary: Geralt hated every second and every word.  
But despite it all, he couldn’t hide from himself that he did not at all hate the singer himself.  
“I need another Whiskey.”, he mumbled and hurried over to the bar.  
It was simply impossible that right now, right here and right under these circumstances he could find interest in another person.  
It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t supposed to happen.  
So it was probably just an illusion, a strategy of his mind to find a distraction. Brought on by the alcohol and Yennefer’s words from earlier.  
He was about to take his glass and return to the table when someone tapped his shoulder. Turning around, he found himself confronted with the prettiest pair of blue eyes he had ever seen.  
“Hello! My name is Jaskier. But you probably know that, after all you just listened to my concert. I just wanted to grab a drink, refresh my throat. Fancy meeting you here.”  
Geralt let out a confused grunt.  
“I noticed you in the crowd earlier. Your white hair is very striking. Amongst other things...”  
Geralt almost took a step back when Jaskier raised his hand to gently tug on a strand of his white hair.  
“Interesting colour! So unusual. You can’t be that old, though, right? I’d have said like near the mid-thirties? Is that right? Ah! Barman! A coke please! Thank you, love!”  
Jaskier took a sip of his drink.  
“So, are you alone here?”  
“...No.”  
“That woman at your table? Ohh she is gorgeous! Your sister?”  
“... something like that.”  
“Not the talkative one, are you? That’s all right, I easily make up for that. What’s your name?”  
“...Geralt.”  
He regretted answering that.  
“Geralt… Geralt. Mh…I like that. So, are you a cowboy then? A proper cowboy? You know, the checkered shirt… and just your whole… vibe, really.”  
That brought Geralt out of his stupor. He straightened up.  
“Depends on what you mean by true cowboy. If you mean what you sang about, then no. Absolutely not.”  
“Oh?”  
Jaskier hesitated but not for long.  
“Yeah, I was wondering about that! I saw you listening intently and yet not standing up nor clapping once i was finished! What’s the deal with that? Trying to draw my attention to you, hmm?”  
“Mhh.”  
He was not keen on getting into a fight over this topic. Nor on being pierced by Jaskier’s blue gaze for longer than necessary. It made him feel queasy.  
“Aw come on dear, three words or less! How did you like my music?”  
Jaskier leant forward slightly, apparently eager for an answer.  
Geralt hated to disappoint.  
“It doesn’t exist.”  
“... what?”  
“The life you sing about. It doesn’t exist.”  
“I–”  
“And frankly, the degree of your delusion is worrying.”  
That had come out harsher than he had meant. Geralt squared his jaw, trying to hide his discomfort. He didn’t quite know what the expression on Jaskier’s face was conveying, it was somewhere between intrigue and hurt. But at least he seemed to have stopped talking.  
Geralt downed his Whiskey in one go and nodded curtly, before stalking over to Yennefer. His legs moved stiffly, hindered by the knowledge of Jaskier watching him retreat.  
“I’ll be waiting in the van”, he told her, before leaving the pub.

Jaskier was thunderstruck. He stared after the unfairly handsome stranger that had just managed to down all his self-confidence in one sentence.  
It didn’t exist? Well, duh.  
Delusional? Hello? Rude?  
But now there wasn’t even a chance to defend himself anymore, since Geralt had already left.  
And Jaskier somehow couldn’t bear the thought of having made such a disadvantageous impression, couldn’t bear that Geralt didn’t know who he really was, what he really felt about his music.  
Oh god he was obsessing already. And he hadn’t even properly talked to the guy yet.  
Suddenly a raven-haired woman appeared in front of him.  
“You are Jaskier?”, she asked, voice sultry.  
“... yes?”  
“My name is Yennefer. I’m a friend of Geralt’s And I think I have a proposition for you.”

Brown earth.  
Swathes of green trees in the distance.  
Deepest blue above, dotted with fluffy white.  
And the very persistent recollection of a pair of cornflower-blue eyes and a silky voice.  
Geralt frowned into his cup and let out a grunt. He was annoyed at his own brain for hanging onto the man– Jaskier– he had met only yesterday. He knew nothing about him, other than that he was a country singer which was less than ideal and yet–  
And yet he had dreamed about his smile tonight.  
It was embarrassing.  
And disturbing his peaceful morning.  
Well.  
At least he would never see him again. At least he could pretend it was all just a dream. And ignore the way that idea tugged at his heart.  
He raised his cup for another sip.  
And froze when the doorbell suddenly rang.  
He hadn’t even known that it still worked. There were only a few people that came by his farm and none of them ever used the bell. They just came in.  
Frowning, Geralt placed his cup on the kitchen counter and slowly walked down the corridor. When the bell rang again, he took an impatient step forward and threw open the door.  
A dazzling pair of blue eyes stared back at him.  
It was Jaskier.  
The real one, not an imagination.  
He stood there in his white pants and crispy yellow shirt, a guitar case slung over his back. A bulky bag lying at his feet.  
“...what?”, Geralt stammered.  
“Geralt! Good Morning!”  
“How– Where–”  
“Your friend drove me! Yennefer! It’s really nice out here! Very idyllic. And such fresh air! Seems like I wasn’t too far off the bat now, was I?” He winked.  
“What… what do you–”, Geralt instinctively stepped aside as Jaskier squeezed past him into the house. Without even asking for permission he threw down his things and twirled around, surveying the joint kitchen and living space.  
“Stop– wait a second. What the absolutely fuck are you doing here? What– Yennefer brought you? What is going on here?”  
“She didn’t tell you?”  
“Tell me what?!”  
“Oh.. oh this is kind of awkward now… see, after our conversation last night, I decided that you were right. I may have written about an idealized version of country life. And there is only one way to improve for my next album! I must learn the real way! And that is where you come in!”  
Jaskier stood there, arms extended and grinning brilliantly.  
“Oh. No. No I can’t–”  
“Do not fret! You won’t even know I am here! I’ll just follow you around everywhere and make sure I get the complete experience so that my next album will be an absolute banger! Now, where is your spare-bedroom?”

Yennefer was going to pay for this.


	2. Beans in Lasagna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day at the farm, the gay is rising

It was way, way too early in the morning when Jaskier got pulled out of his sleep.  
„Jaskier. Jaskier! Wake up.“  
At first, Jaskier was confused about that deep, sonorous voice that was way too close. Instinctively he reached out, trying to get a hold of whatever person dared to interrupt his hard earned dreams. But his hands only found hay.  
Stupid hay.  
Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. What he saw was Geralt‘s head and shoulders.  
„Get up.“  
„Wha..?“  
„Breakfast.“  
„It‘s... what... four in the morning? What the hell?“  
„It is 6. Time to begin your Country experience.“  
Oh. Right.  
Jaskier‘s head flopped back against his pillow-substitute that was simply a pile of hay.  
„Urghhh....“  
„Done already?“  
The grin in Geralt‘s voice was infuriating. Jaskier sat up, ignoring how the motion made his head spin, and put up a cheery smile.  
„On the contrary! I am ready! More than ready! I am awake. Seeing your lovely face first thing in the morning is better than any cup of coffee.“  
He even managed a wink and watched with satisfaction as Geralt‘s expression soured. He hesitated for a moment, then scanned Jaskier’s face and asked:  
„Slept well?“  
HAH. Funny.   
This had been one of the worst nights Jaskier had ever experienced in his entire life.   
And he had had a lot of crying-yourself-to-sleep-over-the-future-and-existence-and-the-general-state-of-the-world-nights.   
Geralt, it turned out, had considered it a great idea to convert his only guest room into a private library. Not to be judgemental or anything (right now Jaskier was, in fact, inclined to be very judgemental), but how many books could a man like Geralt own? Surely not enough to fill a whole room and leave no space for a small bed? Consequently, and under the pretense of granting Jaskier the whole and very lovely Country experience (as he was fond of saying), Geralt had decided to let him sleep in the barn.   
The barn!  
At first, the pile of hay that was to be his bed seemed really nice and rustic, so to say. The place was rather high up on a small, separate floor and could only be reached by a dinghy ladder. Jaskier had fallen asleep contentedly, listening to the sounds of the night, that weren‘t many since, the country, duh.   
However. Then at night he had suddenly been woken by some loud scream. Jaskier tried to tell himself that it was merely an animal, that the strange man he had chosen to just move in with didn‘t keep hostages in his cellar to sacrifice by moonlight.   
That part wasn‘t too difficult. Despite his gruffines, Geralt probably wouldn’t be able to hurt a fly. Or so Jaskier hoped.  
But the hay was now revealing its true potential for itchiness. It stuck to every part of him, or at least that‘s what it felt like. He began scratching his skin which of course did nothing. Rather on the contrary. At some point he must have fallen asleep, but this wasn‘t the last time his rest was to be interrupted.   
He‘d never thought that the countryside would be so goddamn loud at night. Seemingly every animal in existence decided to carry out its screaming fights right beside the barn. The hay was getting ever more persistent until Jaskier began to sneeze and once- he swore!- a rat even gnawed on his foot!  
All this passed through his head when Geralt asked his question. Apparently he looked the part too, for Geralt continued:  
„Well, if it was that bad...“  
„Nonono! Bad? What? Nooo. It was actually pretty nice come to think of it! So... close to nature... calming. Cleansing. Not like the city at all. I feel really refreshed!“  
Geralt seemed sceptical but shrugged.  
„Mh. Come down. Breakfast is ready.“

Once Jaskier looked and felt relatively decent he came into the kitchen. The back door was open, revealing a small terrace that looked out over the plain surrounding the farm.   
It was beautiful. The morning light painted everything in light yellow and a fresh breeze made the few bushes and boughs dance. Geralt leant against the wall, drinking his coffee. If he wore a cowboy hat, Jaskier thought, the picture would be complete.  
„There‘s a cup for you.“  
Jaskier found it on the counter. Beside it stood a jug of milk and a tin box full of sugar. He put both into his drink and then joined Geralt outside.  
They remained in silence for a long while, Jaskier because he was simply too tired to bother and Geralt because he was Geralt. The coffee did help though and once Jaskier had finished his cup, he felt much better.  
„So, what time is it?“  
„Almost seven.“  
„Do you always get up so early?“  
„Mhh.“  
„But yesterday you went to sleep pretty late. I saw the lights in your window. Is that why you seem so eternally grumpy? Sleep deprivation?“  
„Mh.“  
Geralt threw him a mildly annoyed glance which earned him a grin.  
„I‘ll take that as a yes. I usually don‘t need much sleep and I also have trouble falling asleep in general. All those thoughts running around in my head... yeah, I think a lot. Pretty intelligent, right? Big brain and all that. Ugh I hate that I said that. Just forget about it, please. Anyways. Yeah, it takes hours for me to fall asleep so I usually just wait until I‘m absolutely ready to collapse. Not the most healthy but what can you do, right?“  
„Mh.“  
„So what are we gonna do today? Will you show me how to throw lassos?“  
„Horseback riding.“  
„Huh?“  
Geralt turned to look at Jaskier, curious to see his face after the tone of his answer. He was not disappointed. Jaskier had gone pale, eyes wide (making their blue colour even more striking), his hand squeezing his cup.  
„What…“, Geralt murmured, lips twitching into a smile.  
„Don‘t tell me that surprised you. As much as you sang about horses yesterday.“  
„No I... I just... hhhh...“  
„Are you... afraid of horses? What? Longing for a cowboy world but without the horses?“, he broke into a hoarse laughter.   
Jaskier felt his cheeks heat up.  
„No! I‘m not afraid of them! I love them! In a hypothetical state... the idea of horses is to my liking. The real ones, however... well...“  
„That is the stupidest thing. How are you intending to get around here then?“  
„Walk? I‘m a fast walker?“  
Geralt merely laughed again.   
„Fine then. If you prefer that, then walk. But get yourself some good shoes.“  
“Oh, don’t worry, I already planned getting myself some cowboy boots. In hot pink, of course.”  
“Those are for riding.”  
“Why don’t you wear them then?”  
“Because I have standards.”  
Geralt plucked the cup from Jaskier‘s hands and disappeared inside.

There were three figures in the courtyard.   
One was an exceptionally pretty, young singer with a guitar case strapped over his shoulder.  
One was a big, unfairly handsome but very grumpy cowboy, who was missing his hat which the singer regretted a lot.   
And one, finally, was a gangly-legged, tail-swishing demon sent directly from hell.   
The demon was apparently called Roach.  
„What kind of a name is that?“, Jaskier murmured nervously, watching as Geralt climbed onto her back.  
„A family tradition. I found it cute.“  
„Cute? Never thought I would hear you say that word...“  
„Come now.“  
The demon set into motion and Jaskier decided to trust his lucky star and follow suit.   
„So... where are we going to anyways?“  
„The cows.“  
„The Cows? Is that like, a mountain range or something?“  
It was only after a few moments of silence that Jaskier realized that Geralt was trying to suppress laughter.   
„No. It‘s the animals.“  
„Ohhhh I see! Right, could have guessed that myself.“  
He would NOT be embarrassed now! No! No blushing allowed!  
His face ignored these instructions.  
Another bout of silence.  
„So you own cows?“  
„Yes.“  
„Cool. I thought you had sheep, for some reason. So wait- the milk this morning, was that...“  
„Yes.“  
„Ohh! That‘s why the coffee tasted so much better! It was somehow fuller? More whole? Wholesome? Is that the word? No, not quite. Well, I suppose you don’t remember coffee without such great milk in it so making the comparison would be unnecessary. No?“  
No answer.  
Since Geralt did not seem to be in a chatting mood (did he ever?), Jaskier, too, fell into silence.   
They continued on an imaginary path that only Geralt seemed to see, navigating past green bushes and the occasional patch of white, gangly flowers. With time the sun rose higher and higher until the morning chill was dispersed, leaving her full reign over the sky. Immediately, it became warmer.

Once they reached a big, wooden fence, Geralt jumped off his horse (demon). He tied Roach to one of the flocks and then let out a loud whistle. Jaskier waited patiently. But nothing happened. He raised an arm to wipe the thin sheet of sweat from his forehead, squinting against the sun.  
„So... are they gonna... like... come?“  
„Just wait.“  
Sure enough, dark blots began to appear in the distance. As they came closer, Jaskier could make out a dozen cows or so.   
„Come here.“, Geralt said from where he was perched on the fence. Jaskier did as he was told, clambering up the structure beside his companion.  
„This one is Blot. This one is Bourbon. And this one is Tina.“  
He pointed at each cow in turn.  
„You named them?“  
„Of course I named them.“  
„Okay, okay- i just... wouldn‘t have expected it...“  
Geralt tried to ignore the fond grin on Jaskier‘s face and instead resumed pointing.  
„That‘s Snowball.“  
„But she‘s black.“  
„Exactly.“  
Jaskier let out a merry laugh, which seemed to startle the cows. They began to look at him more interestedly now.  
„This one‘s Yennefer.“  
„That- That‘s a bull.“  
„Exactly.“   
Geralt couldn‘t help but smile a little when Jaskier‘s laugh returned. (It sounded as lovely as his singing did).  
„Who‘s that?“, Jaskier beamed, pointing at a smaller, fluffy looking cow.  
„Carrot Cake.“  
The animal had begun approaching the two men and curiously nudged Geralt’s leg. The man reached out to ruffle her curly fur.  
“She just wants snacks, all the time.”  
„God. Carrot Cake is me. Also how do you come up with these names?“  
„I had help.“  
„Oh?“  
„A friend of mine.“  
Jaskier looked at the bull.  
„Not Yennefer, I suppose.“, he managed before breaking into a wild laughter again. He didn‘t see the smile on Geralt‘s face before it disappeared.   
“No, not Yennefer.”  
“Who is it, then?”  
“You wouldn’t know her.”  
“Tell me about her then!”  
“Mh. She is a young girl that comes to visit sometimes. The farm is on her way home. That’s it.”  
Jaskier glanced at his companion curiously.  
“Really? That’s a long way to school, isn’t it? Lucky her that she can take a break at this lovely place.”  
„Right.”, Geralt murmured, suddenly slipping back to the ground. Carrot Cake jumped away nimbly.  
“I‘ll have to look at the fences, see if they need fixing. You can wait here if you want. Or are you afraid of cows too?“  
„I‘m not afraid of any animal! I just... respect them!“  
Roach forcefully blew some air out of her nose, causing Jaskier to stumble backwards against the fence. If horses had emotions, Jaskier would swear that this one was laughing at him right now.  
„Right.“, Geralt murmured again, shaking his head.  
„So, you wait here. I‘ll be back soon.“  
„I know it would be very hard to, but don‘t forget about me!“, Jaskier yelled, watching Geralt retreat into the morning mist. 

Waiting was boring and the cows seemed to have lost all interest in him, so Jaskier sat down with his back against the fence and took out his guitar. Technically, he could use the time to take a nap, catch up on some sleep, but he wouldn‘t let Geralt have the satisfaction of finding him like that.   
Even though he doubted that Geralt would care much either way.  
The moment his fingers strummed the guitar, a few of the cows raised their heads. Jaskier turned to the side a bit so he could observe them and began playing the first thing that came to his mind. 

The fences were all in order and Geralt was on his way back, hoping Jaskier hadn‘t managed to get himself trampled yet. That would be a hell of a mess to clean up.   
He didn‘t mean that. They had spent one evening and one half of a morning together but Geralt was already beginning to adjust to the sudden source of noise that had entered his life. He‘d always thought he loved silence, and maybe he still did, but it was surprisingly good to have someone nearby. Someone to give distraction, to make the occasional silences more poignant.  
Or maybe annoyance would just come later, once they found out who the other person really was.  
Geralt‘s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sweet sound of a guitar and an even sweeter voice.  
Right, Jaskier had brought his instrument with him earlier. Geralt had been wondering about that.  
Once he reached the top of a hill he had a direct view on his guest.   
He was sitting beside the fence, playing away happily while the cows rested behind him, dozing in the sun. They were all piled up together, eyes half closed and seemed to be enjoying the concert. After a few moments of listening, Geralt recognized the song from yesterday. The one with the Bee.

“You'll be my sunny day  
I'll be your shade tree  
You'll be my honeysuckle  
I'll be your honey bee”

Neither setting nor situation did anything to change Geralt’s opinion on the song in general, but he, again, couldn’t help but feel… something at the sound of Jaskier’s voice. He had never heard a voice like that before.  
This had to be stopped.  
“I see you found a way to occupy yourself.”  
To his satisfaction he saw Jaskier start at the sudden voice and turn around, causing the guitar to make a rather ugly sound,  
“Geralt! Good to see you! Yes, I– ah! Stay away with that horse!”  
“Yes yes…”  
“I swear to god she was about to trample me! I already saw myself slipping into the afterlife!”  
Geralt rolled his eyes and glanced towards the cows.  
“They seem to like your song.”  
“Yehes, unlike SOMEONE here, these babies do have taste!”  
“More like a skewed perception of the world they live in.”  
“Don’t be so mean! Was everything in order?”  
“It was. We can go now, get something to eat.”  
“Let me just finish this song!”  
Geralt let out a sigh and sat back in the saddle, pushing one fist against his hip. He turned his gaze to the grassland around them and listened as Jaskier brought his performance to an end.   
Once the last note faded into the air, Snowball let out a contented sigh and stretched her neck to reach Jaskier, who in turn extended his hand to pet the cow on the head.  
“Look Geralt! She loves me!”  
“Lovely. Now let’s go.”  
He didn’t wait until Jaskier had packed away his guitar, and by the time the singer was done bidding each cow goodbye in turn, Geralt was already way ahead. With a small swear, Jaskier hastened forward, not keen on getting lost in this wilderness.

By ‘to eat’ Geralt had merely meant ‘to snack’. They each had a slice of bread with marmalade before getting back to work. Today, apparently, was cleaning day and Geralt was very happy to leave the task of vacuuming and wiping the floors to Jaskier. For some reason, he hated those activities. Jaskier, on the other hand, seemed to have a lot of fun. Whilst Geralt was busy cleaning all the windows, he could hear his guest sing somewhere deeper inside the house. He couldn't understand either lyrics nor even the melody, but the mere sound of a voice was already making the hours go by faster.  
Once the laundry had been hung up on one of the lines nearby the barn (Jaskier wouldn't stop marvelling at the ‘stunning’ effect of white sheets blowing in the breeze. “It’s just like a movie!”) and the horse had been fed and the veranda had been brushed clean and the house had been aired out, Geralt and Jaskier were absolutely ready for dinner. It was early afternoon when Jaskier fell into one of the dining chairs, while Geralt walked over to the fridge to sort out his ingredients.  
“Heaven and Hell that was a hell of a day. That rhymed!”, Jaskier exclaimed, drawing himself up a little.  
“It didn’t.”  
“Sure did! What are you making by the way?”  
“Lasagna.”  
“Oh! Great! I love a good lasagna!”  
He sprang up and came over to the counter, leant onto it with crossed arms.  
“I didn’t think you could cook.”  
“Would be bad not to, if you live out here.”  
“I suppose you’re right…”  
He spotted a strange can and reached out to pick it up.  
“Wait… beans? In lasagna? What?”  
“Is there a problem?”  
“Yes? Beans don’t belong into lasagna?”  
“They do in the country.”  
Geralt turned away to get something out of a drawer.  
“Special Western recipe.”  
Jaskier gaped at him.  
“Are you serious?”  
He didn’t see how Geralt’s shoulders were shaking a little.  
“Dead serious.”  
“Damn… so that cliché is true then? You really do put beans into anything?”  
“Sure;”, Geralt turned back around, face a little red, corners of his mouth turned upwards.  
“Even in your coffee this morning.”  
“Wha– really?! I didn’t– wait. Wait! That’s coffee beans not– You ass! Stop laughing! I’m not actually that dumb…”  
Jaskier watched Geralt laugh, not really regretting his mistake. He thought he could listen to the man’s deep voice all day long without ever tiring of it.   
He was startled out of his (admiration) observation when Geralt took the can from him, making their fingers brush against each other. Jaskier cleared his throat.  
“So beans in lasagna was a lie too?”  
“Not at all. That was real.”  
They remained silent while Geralt got out a form. Jaskier watched silently, playing around with the box of noodle-sheets.  
“I’m really shit at cooking. I never got how people can just throw stuff together and make something delicious. I really admire persons with that skill. I am, however, great at baking! Well, baking pie, that is. I can only do pie. And peanut-butter-cookies. Do you like pie, Geralt?”  
“...it’s my favourite kind of cake.”  
“Indeed?? Great! I will make you one someday, then. Which fruit?”  
“Apple. Or Blackberry.”  
“Lovely! I can definitely do that. You’ll adore it! You’ll never want to let me leave again.”  
“Mhh.”  
Geralt seemed to be busy measuring and cutting his ingredients and Jaskier sat up curiously.  
“Can you explain to me what you are doing?”  
“... cutting tomatoes?”  
“No, I mean, the steps you take to make the dish.”  
“Right.”  
Jaskier listened intently as Geralt recounted his doings, describing his actions in quiet, curt words. He didn’t think that his guest was really interested, had just asked out of politeness, but when he turned around, once, he saw that Jaskier was watching Geralt’s hands intently. From then on he made sure to add more detail and some tips.   
In the past few weeks he had probably never spoken as much as he had during this half-hour of cooking. At the end, his voice was a little hoarse. He fell silent once the lasagna was in the oven.  
“Wow! That wasn’t that difficult! I should try to make that too some time. I’m especially interested in those beans. They seem like an interesting addition!”  
Geralt didn’t care enough to explain that he had been joking earlier. While cooking, he had actually forgotten about it and only remembered when the beans were already in the form. By then it was too late to backpedal and so he left Jaskier in the belief of witnessing true Country-tradition.  
“It needs to be in the oven for a while. You can go get some firewood in the meantime.”  
“Outside and to the right, right?”  
Geralt nodded and watched as Jaskier disappeared through the door.  
Then he turned back to the oven.

Dinner was surprisingly silent, save for Jaskier’s occasional praise of Geralt’s cooking skills. The beans weren’t that bad of an addition, Geralt had to admit. They were actually quite delicious.   
After cleaning all the dishes and putting the rest of the lasagna into the fridge they used the remaining hours of daylight to take off the laundry and put it back into its designated closets.   
A soft gust of wind was making the sheets blow around again and by now everything was tinged in the golden light of the evening sun. Geralt caught himself twice getting distracted by the way it made Jaskier’s brown hair seem like glittering honey. Or something like that. He wasn’t good at such comparisons. But he was glad when they were done, when the shadows began to take over the world again, reducing Jasker to a blurry form.  
Once the laundry was put away and all the windows were closed for the night, Jaskier and Geralt settled down in the living room. Geralt had started a small fire in the hearth and sat in a bulky armchair with an obscure book in his hands. Jaskier, naturally, had taken out his guitar and was plucking away at the strings idly.   
His eyes were beginning to feel more and more heavy, all the tiredness finally catching up to him. Geralt’s silence and the crackling of the fire weren’t helping either. His fingers continually slipped out of their right positions, producing wonky sounds.  
At some point, realizing that the silence was becoming ever consuming (how strange how fast he had become accustomed to Jaskier’s noise), Geralt looked up only to see that his guest had fallen asleep on the couch. His guitar rested on top of him, but was currently in the train of slipping to the floor. Geralt got up and gently took it, placing it against the table. He observed Jaskier for a moment, then reached out and gently shook his shoulder.   
Jaskier murmured something and took a deep breath.  
“Jaskier… time to go to sleep.”  
“Hmmm…”  
“Get up.”  
“No…”  
“It’s already late.”  
The singer didn’t answer.  
“... come now.”  
A few minutes later Jaskier had brushed his teeth and was coming back into the living room. Geralt didn’t see the expression of dread on Jaskier’s face as he left the warm sheen of fire, turning towards the impenetrable darkness outside.   
“Well… See you tomorrow, Geralt. Sleep well.”  
“...yes.”  
Geralt watched Jaskier go into the darkness, trying not to regret having woken him.


	3. Brontosaurus

„What the- FUCK!“ Jaskier yelled for the umpteenth time. He had managed to ram his pitchfork all the way through the hay and into the ground once more, making his hand holding the handle quiver.   
„Owww!“  
Geralt, who was working right beside him, let out a sigh and leant onto his own pitchfork.  
„You‘re terrible at this.“  
„Well sorry Mister Yee Haw I Was Born In The Hay! Not all of us can be as suave with the devil‘s instrument as you are!“  
He let out a small string of curses and took a look at his wrist. It wasn‘t exactly in pain but definitely throbbing slightly. With a sigh, he brushed his sweaty bangs out of his face.  
„Here“, came from beside him and a second later Geralt was holding his hand in his own ones. (They felt exactly as Jaskier had imagined. Dry and rough but moved in a gentle manner. Jaskier loved it.)  
„Ow.“, he said half-heartedly, watching Geralt poke and prod his skin.  
„Doesn‘t seem serious. But take a break anyways. The hospital is quite a way off.“  
When the touch of the other‘s fingers went away, Jaskier let out a breath.  
„Ah well, too bad! I definitely hate sitting around, doing nothing. A shame!“  
„Come to think of it-„  
„Nooooo!“  
„There is something you can do.“  
„Geralt!! Please! I beg of you! Just a small break!“  
„Real cowboys don‘t take breaks.“  
„Well, I‘m not a real cowboy! Just a sweet, sweet city boy with a guitar! Have some pity, Honey, Darling- Dear!“  
„Go tidy that closet over there.“  
„You villain!“  
Despite his theatrics, Jaskier smiled slightly as he hurried over to the closet. Anything was better than mucking out hay anyways. What a shitty job.   
He was glad that he had accepted Geralt‘s offer of an old, washed-out shirt and a pair of welly boots to wear at work. By now, they were sweaty and dirty and just downright disgusting. His usual attire would definetly have been ruined completely.   
And his hair was full of filth.  
And his hands were red and sore.   
He desperately needed a shower.  
He looked over towards Geralt, wanting to ask a question and noticed that the other man was looking at him already.   
Geralt blinked and turned his head away.   
„Uhhh sooo… how do you mean tidy? Can I just keep what I like and throw away the rest?“  
Jaskier cleared his throat. „Some products are in there multiple times but some are dried out. Just check them and throw the bad stuff away.“  
„Right!“  
Jaskier began his task, listening to the sound of hay-shovelling behind him. Similar to yesterday they worked on in silence, each finding some comfort in the other‘s presence. And again, Geralt found himself perplexed at how much he enjoyed this companionship.   
Maybe Yennefer had been right after all.  
…   
God, it‘s been two days.   
No need to exaggerate.  
But he also couldn‘t ignore the jolt of his heart when Jaskier began humming again.

“Are you hungry?”, Geralt asked some time later, when he heard a rumbling that sounded suspiciously like the sound of a stomach demanding food.   
“... maybe?” Jaskier answered, looking up.  
“We should take a break then.”  
Sticking the pitchfork into the fresh pile of hay in front of him, Geralt straightened up and glanced over to the cupboard. Jaskier was sitting between piles and piles of boxes, tubes and brushes, hands soiled with various kinds of creams and liquids. (He couldn‘t help but notice how the stains accentuated Jaskier‘s hands. He hadn‘t noticed how shapely and firm they seemed before. He‘d have expected them to be soft and weak but was pleasantly surprised.)  
“You got rather far.”  
“I did! I think I’m almost done. After lunch I’ll get a trash bag in here and clean up properly. Oh and we should make a list with stuff we still need. Some things in here have gone bad already and there is no replacement.”  
“Alright.”  
Trying not to bring his dirty palms to the ground and instead awkwardly using his wrists, Jaskier scrambled up from the floor.  
“Allright love, I’ll go take a shower. Don’t start eating before me!”  
Geralt couldn’t even answer before his companion left the barn. He looked over at the cupboard again and let out a sigh.   
He’d been dreading this task for months now.   
Maybe it wasn’t too bad having a helping hand around.

Rubbing his palms together to try and dispel at least some of the dirt on them, Jaskier entered the kitchen.  
Someone was in the middle of the room.  
He froze.  
A girl of about fifteen stood at the dining table, holding an apple in her hand. She had light-blonde hair and a face filled to the brim with freckles. A pair of meadow-green eyes stared back at him.  
The girl began to scream.  
At the same time, Jaskier let out a yelp and stumbled back against the kitchen counter.   
A second later, Geralt barged in through the door. They all started yelling at the same time.  
“Ciri! I told you not to scream like that! Only in emergencies!”  
“Why is there a dirty man standing in your kitchen?!”  
“Why is there a child in your house stealing your apples?!”  
After a round of confused glances, the girl, Ciri, apparently, gingerly put the apple she had been holding back into its bowl on the table.  
Geralt cleared his throat and pinched his nose.  
“You’re all giving me a headache…”  
“Are you saying you know this guy? Wait– is he– are you–? Did he stay over night?“  
Geralt and Jaskier looked at each other for a second.  
“No! No! It’s not what you think!”  
“He’s not– No.”  
„I did stay overnight though...   
„But not- not that way-”  
“I just kind of moved in here for a few days because– well uh...– you see–”  
“His music is terrible and he is here to change that.”  
“Hey! That’s a terrible accusation! And explanation too, by the way. I’m a singer and Geralt accused me of writing unrealistic Country-songs so I came here to either change that or to prove him wrong. I don’t know which one yet.”  
Ciri blinked.  
“Right… I’m almost sixteen, you know? I know what having a boyfriend means…”  
“He is Not– my boyfriend.”  
Jaskier sensed a chance for mischief and pouted slightly.  
“That was harsh… am i so repulsive to you, Geralt?”  
“No– That’s not what I’m saying.”  
“But you’re saying that you wouldn’t date me?”  
“I didn’t– I just said that I wasn’t doing that right now!”  
“So you’re saying that you possibly would in the future?”  
“Shut up.”  
There was a dangerous glint in his eyes and he looked a little like a cornered animal.  
“I take that as a yes.”  
“So, I’m still here, you didn’t forget about that, did you?”, Ciri suddenly said, drawing their attention back to her.  
“No, sorry. Is school already over?”  
“Yes and I am ravenous! I want food! Have you made something nice?”  
“We have lasagna.”  
“Ahhhh! I love you Geralt!”  
She ran over to him and gave him a bone crushing hug, which Geralt gently returned.   
“Sit down, I’ll prepare everything.”  
“I’ll join you in a second, I’ll just quickly take a shower.”, Jaskier declared before disappearing into the corridor.

When Jaskier came back into the room, skin smelling fresh and with a towel thrown over his hair, Ciri sat at the table. Her legs dangled in the air and she had rested her cheeks in her palms.  
“Where is Geralt?”  
“Heating up the lasagna. He doesn’t have a microwave. I told him to get one but he says it’s unnecessary and makes the food taste stale. Sometimes I think he really is a fossil.”  
“A fossil?”, Jaskier asked, sitting down as well.  
“Mhh well, maybe a little antiquated, yes. Tell me, do you know something about dinosaurs?”  
Ciri nodded slightly and trained her piercing gaze on the man opposite her.  
“What dinosaur would you think Geralt would be?”  
Her eyes lit up and based on her quick answer, Jaskier assumed that she had thought about this question thoroughly before.  
“Something big! And strong! Something cool! A T-Rex!”  
“You sure? I don’t know… T-Rexes are pretty aggressive and loud. I think he’d be more of a… ah, what are they called? The tall bois. Herbivores. Br–”  
“Brontosaurus!”  
“Yeah! He’d be that. But with a small cowboy hat on his head.”  
“Are you back on your cowboy bullshit.”, Geralt asked gloomily as he carried some plates and cutlery into the room.  
“Actually, no. And what’s that supposed to mean?”  
“We were thinking about what dinosaur you would be!”  
Jaskier was sure that, had he himself broken these news to him, Geralt would not have smiled as fondly as he did now at Ciri.   
“And what is the answer?”  
“A Brontosaurus!”  
“Mhh.”  
Geralt left for the kitchen again.   
“He doesn’t seem to agree”, Jaskier said.  
“No I think he loves it!”  
“What? How can you tell?”  
“The glint in his eyes.”  
Geralt returned, carrying the hot lasagna in his gloved hands.  
“Move aside Ciri or you’ll burn yourself.”  
“What about me? I could burn myself too?”, Jaskier protested.  
“And you probably will. No matter whether I warn you or not.”  
“Hey!”  
“Yesterday he almost slipped on cow shit even though I told him to watch out.”, Geralt explained with a look at Ciri, who broke into laughter.   
“I was just appreciating the sky and the clouds!”  
“Almost cost you your neck.”  
Sadly, Jaskier couldn’t argue with that. But he also didn’t have to try because Ciri let out a gasp at the sight of the piece of lasagna on her plate.  
“What the Heck is that? Beans? In lasagna?”  
Jaskier looked up at her, then fixed Geralt with a stare.   
“Ciri–”  
“Is that some new weird idea of yours or what? Ewww you never put beans in lasagna Geralt!”  
“That‘s not true. I always make it like that.“, Geralt said quietly.  
„You do not! Wait, is this a joke I‘m not getting?“  
Jaskier narrowed his eyes.  
„I can‘t believe you lied to me about beans in your lasagna, Geralt. I should have known! You betrayed my trust!“   
He threw in a pose of dramatic discontent for good measure but Geralt merely shrugged.  
„I didn‘t want to disillusion you.“  
„Disi- what?“, Ciri cried, having lost track of the conversation.  
„You already disillusioned me when it turned out you had no cowboy hats to wear! I think I can manage the fact that beans are not part of your everyday meal!“  
Jaskier was trying very hard to remain theatrically outraged but it was difficult with Geralt showing no reaction whatsoever and Ciri demanding someone explain to her what was going on.  
„Get over it Jaskier. It was just a joke. And it tasted rather well besides.“  
„Get over you lying to me about beans? Geralt no, this is a step too far, I don‘t think I can trust you with anything anymore.“  
For a moment their eyes met and they paused, simply staring at each other.  
Ciri decided to just start eating.  
Jaskier began to grin.  
„I‘ll pay you back on that one, cowboy, you‘ll see!“  
„Right.“, Geralt breathed, apparently relieved that Jaskier had stopped acting offended.   
„Let‘s just eat please.“

The meal passed rather quietly, with everyone occupied with chewing and the usual motions of eating. Once Ciri was done, though, she began explaining in detail what had occured at school that day. Geralt listened with interest, asking the occasional question and being seemingly much informed about Ciri‘s school life. Then, at some point, the conversation shifted.  
„Did you go by horse or walk?“  
„I walked. Swirly was too hot to carry me today.“  
„Wait- are we talking about going to school right now?“, Jaskier asked, speaking for the first time in about half an hour. Yes, he was surprised at himself as well.  
„Yes?“  
„You go to school by horse??“ He sat up.  
„Sometimes!“  
„That‘s so cool!“  
„She lives in Mapleyard, the village to the left and goes to school in Barne, the village to the right. It‘s about an hour walk or so and half an hour ride.“  
„That‘s a long way. Don‘t your parents drive you?“  
„They don‘t. They are in graves at the moment.“  
„They- oh. Oh, I‘m sorry, I didn‘t mean to…“  
Jaskier cast his eyes downwards, regretting his question even though he couldn‘t have known about its implications.  
„They died four years ago.“, she stated matter of factly but when he looked at her Jaskier saw her eyes were wide and empty. He wasn’t quite sure what to say to that and so resorted to repeating himself somewhat, throwing Geralt an anxious gaze.  
„I‘m really sorry.“  
Geralt cleared his throat, prompting Ciri to wake from her stiffness.  
„It‘s okay. I‘m a big girl already, I can manage.“  
„Uh… so where do you live?“  
„At my grandparents’.“  
„I see. Don‘t they drive you to school?“  
„They do in winter but I prefer going by myself when possible. Plus I get to see Geralt in the afternoons.“  
She grinned at him brightly, banishing any trace of the trauma from her face. Jaskier couldn’t help but think that she was awfully adept at the quick transformation. As if she’d practised it a million times before.  
„You only come to see the cows and so that I can drive you home.“, Geralt murmured, gazing up at her.  
„Yes! But I also come for you. A little bit.“  
„Hm.“, he answered, lips twitching.   
„Will you drive me home again tonight?“  
„Sure.“  
„You‘re the best!“  
Jaskier noticed that he was smiling fondly at the exchange and cleared his throat.  
„But until then you can help with the hay.“  
„Will do!“

Ciri, it turned out, was incredibly gifted with the pitchfork and managed to finish what Geralt had begun in next to no time. While Jaskier was busy filling trash bags and developing some sort of system for the cupboard, Geralt went to deal with the dirty hay.   
It was already getting dark when they were all done.   
„Jaskier you should get the apples before the birds do.“, Geralt announced when he entered the barn.   
“I just saw them lurking nearby. Tomorrow will be too late.”  
The addressee got up at once and nodded.  
„Right, I forgot about that.“  
After a second of thought he looked at Ciri and smiled.  
„Wanna help me?“  
Together they left for the tree.  
„Will you sell the apples on the market?“, she asked curiously.  
„No, I‘m going to make pie. There is a market?“  
„Yes! Every Sunday morning over in Barne. Geralt used to sell his fruit and vegetables there when he still had enough to give some away. Now he just goes there for shopping. It‘s really fun! They also have a stall that sells cotton candy and peanuts!“  
„I definitely have to go and take a look at that.“, he answered, sending her an excited smile which she returned.  
„Can I have some of the pie you make?“  
„Sure, if anything‘s left once you come over.“  
He let out a soft laugh and began tugging at some of the riper apples. Ciri grabbed the front of her shirt and stretched it so that the fruit could be dropped into the hollow.   
„So… how long are you going to be here for?“  
„Oh. I haven‘t really thought about that yet. To be quite honest I haven‘t thought much about coming here at all. It just kind of… happened.“  
„… how did you meet Geralt?“  
„He was at a concert of mine in Mapleyard.“  
„He went outside?!“  
„With his friend. Yennefer.“  
„The bull or the woman?“  
Jaskier tried not to laugh but failed miserably.  
„The woman. Are you the one who named the cows?“  
She grinned proudly.  
„Aye.“  
„My compliments. But yeah, anyways, Yennefer made the compelling argument that I could collect some experience for my country songs and come here, to live with Geralt for a bit. I have no idea why he didn‘t immediately turn me away at the door. Seems like the thing that fits his character most. That‘s not to say that I am ungrateful. I love it here, actually. It‘s so… peaceful. Exhausting, maybe, but worth it. And Geralt is…“  
He drifted away.  
„He is what?“  
„… nice.“  
„Just nice?“  
„I mean. I don‘t really know him that well. But I‘m not scared of him murdering me at night or anything. He seems like a good person, despite his gruff exterior. Like he really cares for people. Sometimes I think that he might care for me, too, at some point.“  
When Ciri didn‘t answer, he turned toward her to see what was up. She smiled quickly but Jaskier had seen the sly look in her eyes.   
He decided not to ask her about it.  
„Alright. I think that‘s enough apples. Let‘s bring them to the kitchen.“

They found Geralt washing his hands in the sink. As they entered, he looked up.  
„Let’s head out now, it‘s getting late.“  
„But I don‘t want to leave yet!“  
„Your grandma will worry and blame me again.“  
„But–”  
She looked around the room frantically, trying to find something to aid her cause. Then her eyes stopped on Jaskier who was dropping the apples on the counter.  
“Jaskier is allowed to sleep here too!“  
“Jaskier- is something different.“  
“He is not!“  
“Yes he is.“  
“But-„  
“Please.“  
“Fineee… but one day I will convince you to let me stay!“  
“We will see about that. Come, get your bag and jacket. Are you staying here?“, he added, turning towards Jaskier.  
“Actually, I wanted to ask whether I could come with you.“

Ciri disappeared into a grand, wooden house after waving once more at the car in the sloping driveway. Jaskier knew she couldn‘t see it, and yet he waved back at her.   
Then the car set into motion.  
It was dark by now. Besides the occasional street lantern and the headlights only the moon illuminated the world. As they left the village, the street lanterns vanished too. On their drive here the sky had turned a deep shade of teal that did a wonderful job of accentuating the black clouds spread all over it. Now, there was only black left. The more they entered the countryside, though, the more white dots appeared on the firmament.   
They sat in silence for a while, Geralt driving and Jaskier with his head against the window, eyes drawn towards the sky.   
“How did her parents die?“  
“Car crash. Went for a holiday one day and never arrived.“  
“That‘s horrible.“  
“Mhh. They loved her a lot. It shook her for a long time.“  
Jaskier looked over to the driver seat and noticed how set Geralt’s face was.  
“How did you meet her? You two seem like an unusual pair.”  
“A few years ago there was a girl in Yennefer’s apothecary who found it wise to steal all the sweets from the jar on the counter. She thought Yennefer hadn’t noticed. But she had. When Ciri tried to flee from her wrath, she ran into me at the door. It turned out she had run away from home to go snoop around in the village. So i brought her home. I knew her mother from school.”  
Jaskier tried to dispel the warm feeling that Geralt’s voice had triggered in him.  
“Did Yennefer ever forgive her?”  
“Probably not. But Ciri brought her a bag of worms from the garden as recompense. As strange as that was, Yennefer seemed to be somewhat appeased.”   
“Why don‘t you let her sleep at your farm? The way to school would be shorter.“  
Geralt shook his head.  
“Her grandma wants to have her home at night. She got even more protective since her daughter died. And I value my quiet evenings and morning.“  
Jaskier blinked and shifted his head slightly. When he glanced back at Geralt, he stared ahead stubbornly as if he knew what would come now.  
“And yet, here I am.“  
He watched Geralt swallow but it didn‘t seem like he was going to answer anything.  
“What about me?“  
“What about you.“  
“Well, why did you let me stay? You could have brought me to the train station yesterday. Or worse, just put me in front of your door. I was wondering, to be honest...“  
“Mhh.“  
“Why didn‘t you?“  
Geralt‘s brow furrowed in frustration and he let out a puff of air.  
“Do you want me to bring you to the train station?“  
Way to avoid the question at hand. But that was an answer too, wasn’t it? And Jaskier hoped that he wasn’t too optimistic when he understood Geralt’s defensiveness as an admission to liking the singer.   
At least a little bit. But it was enough if that made him tolerate Jaskier’s presence at the farm.  
„No.“, Jaskier replied without hesitation.  
„Not for the world.“  
Silence settled over them again, only broken by the usual whirr of the engine. Geralt’s face was relaxed but there was something to it that betrayed relief. Possibly.  
Then Jaskier smiled and looked out of the window once more.   
They didn‘t speak again for the rest of the ride.


	4. A Spark of Light

Jaskier bent forward to turn up the radio and Geralt felt dread welling up in his stomach. He gripped the steering wheel tighter as the sweet sounds of country music filled the car.   
He was never going to hear the end of this.  
He stared ahead at the road, refusing to meet Jaskier‘s eyes, which, he sensed clearly, were trained on his face now.  
Slowly, Jaskier sat back, suspiciously silent. They listened to the music for a moment.   
Geralt let out a breath.  
“Really Geralt?! Really?! Making fun of MY high quality music but secretly listening to Johnny Cash in your goddamn car?! Not that Johnny Cash isn‘t high quality or anything- I like his music- But that‘s not the point! How dare you!“  
Geralt sincerely tried not to find this situation amusing but a small smile crept onto his lips nonetheless.  
And Jaskier wasn‘t done yet. He twisted in his seat so that he could face Geralt and point his finger in his direction.  
“It doesn‘t exist, huh?! It doesn‘t exist and yet here you are listening to the same stuff you complained about when no one‘s watching! The audacity! The nerve! And then you don‘t even have the decency to change the station before I get in!“  
“Jaskier.“  
“No! First the beans in the lasagna, now this! I‘m half sure that any day now you will open the door to your basement only to reveal a huge collection of hats and boots and saddles and whatever else you cowboy people deem fit for horse riding!“  
“Jaskier.“  
“I should have known when I saw this—„  
He jabbed his finger at Geralt‘s arm, or more specifically at the dark red and black checkered shirt he was wearing. (Geralt was almost ashamed at how the touch made his skin tingle. Almost. He ignored it for the most part. Unsuccessfully.)  
“I mean, no one in their right mind would wear those kinds of shirts exclusively, twenty four seven, and not be either a lumberjack, a dad or a cowboy. Wait, are you a lumberjack?“  
“No.“  
“See!“  
“So I‘m a dad?“  
“Uh– I mean… no! You‘re a cowboy! Don‘t divert from the topic at hand!“.  
“Will you let me say something now then.“  
“Yes. Defend yourself, I dare you!“  
Geralt took a moment to find the right words. However, as always they decided to elude him. So he’d have to make do with what he had.  
“It‘s the only station my radio will play. It’s broken. And sometimes I need to hear some kind of voice when driving. But not all the time. Hence why the volume is so low.“  
Blissful silence settled over the car as Jaskier processed the information. He shrank back in his seat and seemed to ponder the answer as he stared out of the window. Eventually he let out a low sound that Geralt couldn‘t quite interpret.  
“I don‘t believe you.“  
“Well I‘m not particularly interested in making an effort to convince you.“  
“Aw come on! Arguing with you is no fun!“  
“Mhhh.“  
Geralt could feel his lips turn upwards into a genuine smile and quickly checked himself. He had a reputation to keep up with after all.   
But then Jaskier reached out and touched his arm yet again and the car made the teeniest, tiniest swerve to the right.   
“Sorry about the shirt thing by the way,“ He murmured, holding his fingers in place for a long moment before withdrawing them again.  
“I like your shirts. They are comfy and suit your hair. And I bet they‘d be nice in a hug. Just saying.“  
Geralt cleared his throat.  
“Are you done with your chastising now?“  
“Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, too. You said you need to hear a voice sometimes. I thought you liked the silence?“  
“I do. But–”  
Sighing softly, Geralt tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking about how to verbalize his thoughts.  
“Sometimes it‘s just a little too much. When I work I don‘t mind. But when I drive, it‘s… mh.“  
“Oppressing?“  
“Maybe. Sharp. That doesn‘t quite fit.“  
He broke off, slightly frustrated that the right word wouldn‘t come out.  
“I get what you mean. I have that too, but way more than you do. I find silence in general… jarring. Like a cloak of darkness hanging over me, slowly pressing downwards until I suffocate. At least that’s what it feels like when I‘m alone.“  
They were silent for a moment.  
“Sorry, that was me oversharing my problems.“  
Jaskier let out a nervous laugh just as Geralt shook his head.  
“It‘s fine. You have to talk about things, I guess. Makes it less heavy.“  
“Truth be told you don‘t seem like the type to do that. Rather the opposite.“  
“Mhh.....What I‘m trying to say, I guess, is that I don‘t mind if you talk about it. With me. Mh. You know what I mean.“  
He could hear the smile smile in Jaskier‘s voice when he answered.  
“I do. Thank you.“  
Mercifully enough, Jaskier changed topics immediately before any awkward silences could ensue.  
“Okay but for real, listen to this song, I don‘t see what‘s wrong with it? Just people being happy about farms and uh… tractors and shit. I don‘t get why it makes you so angry.“  
“It doesn‘t make me angry.“  
“Fine, why it annoys you so much then.“  
“… it‘s fake.“  
“But what does it matter if it makes people content?“  
“Do you know how many farms have been let to city people that have been fed with fake ideals? How they abandoned them a year later after a hard winter and failed crops and dying cows? How they didn‘t have the nerve to value what it means to provide for life and food and to live with nature?“  
Geralt cleared his throat.  
“It‘s depressing. That’s all“  
They were just passing into Mapleyard, one of the small towns near Geralt‘s farm. The streets were teeming with a surprising amount of people, given the size of the place. But then again, it was probably not that surprising at all, considering that it was market day. Colourful shop-fronts blurred past the car windows, followed by the green tangles of a small park. It was still relatively early in the morning so the sun hadn’t quite reached over the houses yet, leaving the streets in cool shadows.  
“Mhh well I can see that I suppose… I never really thought about it that way.“ Jaskier answered, fingers tapping lightly against the window pane.  
“The worst is that most of these modern singers don’t even know the country. They don’t live there and never have. And they ignore what country music used to mean originally.“, Geralt added.  
Jaskier leant forward and turned the radio down again, grinning suddenly.  
“Boy, thinking about it, I do have exactly the right song for that.“  
“Not now I have to concentrate.“  
“Ohh do I distract you that much? Is it my lovely voice? Sparkling personality?“  
“It‘s your exceptional ability to annoy the fuck out of people.“  
“I‘m going to pretend you didn‘t just say that. Alright. Here we go“  
They had just entered a big parking space that was already filled almost to the brim. Geralt decided to try his luck anyways since it would probably be worse inside the town itself. He leant forward to get a better view of things and circled the space a few times before, finally, a large, black truck backed out in front of him.  
All the while Jaskier provided his entertainment, putting on a very fake southern accent that would have been almost offensive had Geralt cared more.  
“A dirt road, a cold beer  
A blue jeans, a red pickup  
A rural noun, simple adjective“  
From the corner of his eyes Geralt could see that Jaskier had begun swaying to imaginary background music. He twisted and put his hand against the passenger seat’s headrest, looking behind so that he could park the car properly. Jaskier used the opportunity to lay his own hand on Geralt‘s arm and sing directly at him.  
“No shoes, no shirt  
No Jews, you didn't hear that  
Sort of a mental typo“  
Once the throes of parking had been overcome successfully, Geralt turned towards his companion.   
It was only now that he truly realized the words Jaskier had been singing. Annoyance made way for amusement as Geralt opened the door.  
“Funny. Now get out.“  
Jaskier, apparently motivated beyond reason by Geralt‘s acknowledgement, jumped out of the car and began his performance in earnest.  
“I walk and talk like a field hand  
But the boots I'm wearing cost three grand  
I write songs about riding tractors  
From the comfort of a private jet“  
While singing he rounded the car, approaching Geralt and then following him towards the exit of the parking space. Multiple people turned their heads to look at the stranger singing and performing mindlessly on the street but Geralt didn‘t mind. He enjoyed Jaskier‘s antics. (And no, he would never admit that.)   
Until Jaskier decided that Geralt had to dance too. As the chorus began, he suddenly sprang in front of him and grabbed his hands, pulled him closer.  
“Wait-“  
“Come on, have a little fun!“  
Geralt didn‘t have much choice as Jaskier pulled and tugged on his arms with surprising strength, attempting to make him sway to the rhythm.  
“I could sing in Mandarin  
You'd still know I'm pandering  
Huntin' deer and chasing trout  
A Bud Light with the logo facing out“  
Awkwardly Geralt began to yield to the rhythm, letting his arms move the way they were forced to. He didn’t even notice this, as it was basically impossible for him to look away from Jaskier’s sky blue eyes. They were trained on Geralt’s gold ones and shone with an intensity that left him dazed. He felt the complete weight of the singer’s attention rest on him and, strangely enough, felt something akin to pride as a result of it.   
His face loosened. His lips began to curl.  
Then Jaskier started to laugh.  
Geralt was transfixed.  
“Hear that subtle mandolin  
That's textbook panderin'  
I own a private ranch that I rarely use  
I don't like dirt“  
Jaskier‘s voice was shaking softly from laughter and now Geralt couldn’t hold himself back anymore either.  
At first he felt his breath hitch, then his face split and a wave of merriment rolled over him. Instinctively his fingers curled around Jaskier‘s, subconsciously seeking support so he would not lose his balance during the outburst. For several moments he simply stood there, holding onto Jaskier, shaking from laughter.   
Eventually, though, the sensation subsided, leaving his eyes crinkled and his lips relaxed.   
Jaskier was still looking at him but he wasn’t smiling anymore.  
It took Geralt a moment to realize that the look in the other’s face was… something akin to awe.  
“Wow… You laugh exactly the way I imagined…”  
They looked at each other for a moment longer, then Geralt noticed the blush that crept up Jaskier’s neck and into his ears.   
Fuck.  
He released the grip he still had around the other‘s hands and took a step back.  
„Uh- right. So. You got the kissed- list?“ Geralt mumbled, stepping around Jaskier and beginning to stalk towards the town square where the market was located.

Finding what they needed wouldn‘t have been difficult hadn‘t Jaskier been so excited by literally every stall and vendor they stopped at. They spent half an hour at the fruit stall alone.   
In all his life Geralt had never seen anyone so fascinated by the different sorts of apples, the estranged sorts, the ancient ones, those that had been gradually extinguished with improving agriculture et cetera. He had never seen Harold, the vendor, talk so animatedly and certainly never for so long before either. In the end, they even got two small pots of flavoured apple mush for free.  
Well, Jaskier got them for free. Geralt only got a curious look.  
Which might also have been due to the fact that he had been reduced to silent-bag-carrier, a job not totally to his dislike. It meant that he was allowed to remain in the background and pretend that all his concentration was focussed on keeping the bags balanced, when actually it was more drawn to the sound of Jaskier‘s voice, to the movement of his hands and the spark in his eyes.  
He seemed to be truly interested.  
Hence why Geralt didn‘t dare complain or interrupt.  
He also figured that nothing would be able to stop Jaskier‘s enthusiasm anyways.   
To his chagrin one of the vendors at the beeswax stall noticed how Geralt was watching his companion.  
“Gee Kid,“ the vendor exclaimed.  
“How‘d ya manage to tame that one, eh? In all my life I never saw him here on the market for so long. Usually grabs his potatoes and corn and saunters right off to that farm of his.“  
Jaskier turned around with a strange smile on his lips, eyes meeting Geralt‘s.  
Geralt let out a grunt and looked away.  
“Performed a ritual in the graveyard last night.“  
“Aye. Seems about right.“  
They were given two candles gratis after that.  
“I don‘t understand why you get all of this stuff for free.“, Geralt sighed as they sat on a bench in the shadow of a great oak tree. He was currently sifting through the bag (yes, a whole bag) that held all the goodies and presents while Jaskier licked on some ice cream.  
“Maybe because people are nice when they like you?“  
“It’s bad for business.“  
“Ah, now, that‘s just defeatist. Haven‘t you ever given anything for free because you liked someone?“  
“… the bed you‘re currently sleeping in.“  
Jaskier stopped his licking and looked up.  
“Was bad for business too.“, Geralt added quickly and shut the bag.  
He ignored the fact that Jaskier was smiling again.

It was already noon when they approached Yennefer‘s small apothecary. They had decided to pay her a short visit the night before since they were in town anyways.  
Once the shopping was done, they had brought their purchases to the car and then returned to the streets, making their way towards the shop. From the main square it was only a small walk to get there. It led them through small alleys of brick covered in heavy ivy painted with flecks of golden sunlight. Pots of flowers rested on the lower window sills and filled the air with a sweet fragrance.   
At some point, Jaskier ran over to them and pointed at one of the plants.  
“Look, it‘s identical to the one on the back of my shirt!“  
Geralt glanced at the location in question and absentmindedly tapped the flower on the fabric.  
“True.”  
They exchanged smiles.  
Yennefer‘s apothecary was located on a small square with a fountain standing in the middle. It was crammed between a baker and a cosmetics studio, both equally as minuscule. Geralt held open the door and entered after Jaskier.  
Several customers were roaming the aisles. Yennefer herself was currently busy conversing with an elderly woman at the counter. She had put on an encouraging smile which, if you didn‘t know her usual demeanor, seemed extremely convincing. Sure enough the woman bought two boxes of some sort of pills that, judging by the guilty smile on her face, she didn‘t actually need.  
Once she had scurried past Geralt and Jaskier, Yennefer motioned for them to come over to her, smile turning more cool.  
“Well hello there. I see you haven‘t killed each other as of yet. What a surprise.“  
“No need to be so sarcastic.“  
“Geralt, you could also just admit that it had been a good idea of mine to give you a puppy to take care of. You already seem much more relaxed than the last time I saw you.“  
“Hey, I‘m twenty eight! I‘m an adult!“  
“Last time you saw me was at a Country event. What do you expect.“  
“Ah so the Country Conversion hasn‘t worked yet, I take it. I didn’t expect better results, truth be told.“  
She trained her gaze on Jaskier.  
“But you do seem to enjoy yourself.“  
“Is it that obvious? How‘d you know?“  
“By the stupid grin on your face when you showed that flower to Geralt. Should get him a bouquet of them. They‘re his favorite.“  
Geralt let out a small snort and shifted from one foot to the other.  
“We just wanted to say hello. We were here for the market. Figured you‘d like to see us.”  
“Ah. Hello. That’s it? Great, because I actually do have work to do.”  
“Actually–” Jaskier interrupted quite suddenly, taking a step forward.  
“I wanted to ask you something. I’m planning on baking a pie later today. Or tomorrow. And I’d like to thank you for… well, inspiring me to get more practical experience at Geralt’s farm.”  
Geralt decided to ignore the way Yennefer’s eyebrow rose mockingly at the last part of that sentence.  
“So, and I only now realize that I should probably have asked you first, Geralt, sorry, oops–”  
He felt Jaskier’s hand on his arm yet again and looked over.  
“But anyways, would you like to come over for tea and pie tomorrow afternoon? Sit on the veranda and chat a bit?.”  
He finished with a bright smile and folded his arms in front of his chest.   
From the blank expression on Yennefer’s face Geralt knew that she was surprised by the offer. She turned her head to meet Geralt‘s eyes and cocked her head to the side.  
“What says the Cowboy himself about such an intrusion on his privacy?”  
“The Cowboy is alright with it. As long as he doesn’t have to plan or do anything:”  
Yennefer’s eyes lit up with a strange spark. But a moment later she was back to cold indifference.  
“Well, puppy, I’ll gladly come over then. Lady Grey is my favorite.”  
Jaskier let out a breath and loosened his arms again.  
“Great! I’m so looking forward to this! Oh, Geralt, maybe we can invite Ciri too?”  
“You have met Ciri already?”  
“Yeah! Yesterday. Bright young girl, I really like her!”  
“Mhh…”  
Geralt didn’t like the way Yennefer began scratching the side of her jaw. It always meant that she was plotting something. And her predatory gaze was trained directly on Jaskier.  
Like an eagle focusing on a mouse.  
“Jaskier. We should leave. Let the lady return to work.”  
“Oh! Right! Sorry for the interruption, but it was great seeing you again!”  
“Indeed. It’s good you leave now. I think I’m already sick from all this sweetness.”  
She eyed Geralt.  
“But I guess it’s just perfect for you, isn’t it?”

On the ride home Geralt couldn‘t stop thinking about that statement. As Jaskier was busy enthusiastically performing country songs on the passenger seat, that he for some reason knew all the lyrics to, Geralt replayed Yennefer‘s peculiar gazes and reactions, trying to make sense of how they made him feel.   
Was it uncertainty? Disgust? No, not that.   
Was it pride? Why would he feel pride, though?  
Whatever it was, he was unable to put a concrete name on it. As always.  
He knew there was something poking through the usual colourless mush that was his inner life.  
Something that felt similar to what he sensed the moment Ciri rode Roach for the first time.  
Something that felt similar to the memory of Yennefer gently caressing his head as he was suffering in bed from the flu.  
Something he felt last week when he saw that an injury on Snowball’s leg was finally fully healed.  
It was a feeling he knew and recognized, but at the same time it was also something else.   
He let out a frustrated sigh.  
So fine. He liked Jaskier. People were allowed to like people. It‘s not like that was forbidden or anything.  
This was fine.  
This was okay.  
Then Jaskier accidentally slapped his face with his hand and Geralt forgot about his struggles for a moment.

Later that night, when it was already getting dark, they sat together in the living room.   
The rest of the day had mainly consisted of putting away the groceries and of Jaskier repainting a fence while Geralt was out looking for the cows. For dinner they had sat on the veranda side by side, basking in the evening sun with a cold beer in the one hand and some grilled cheese in the other. For once, Jaskier had been silent.  
Now Geralt was resting in his armchair near the fire, reading a book about the history of Archeology. Meanwhile Jaskier sat on the floor beside him, quietly playing the guitar and singing softly to himself, as had become his custom in the evening.   
At some point and for no particular reason Geralt looked up and his eyes came to a rest upon Jaskier‘s bowed head.   
The sheen of the fire reflected beautifully on his soft curls, Geralt noticed and was surprised by his own observance.  
He suddenly became aware of how calm his breathing was, of how peaceful his mind felt at this moment.   
He watched Jaskier‘s lips move, watched his eyes focus on a random point in front of him while the lyrics flowed freely from his mouth. Then his gaze drifted to Jaskier‘s delicate fingers, how they closed around the guitar, how they moved over the strings, how delicate yet strong they seemed.   
Geralt frowned when he realized that he was staring. And the frown deepened when a voice in his head urged him to continue doing so.  
Shaking his head, he averted his gaze and looked back at his book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Jaskier sings is Bo Burnham's Country Song. I desperately needed an opportunity to use this piece of art in this fic.   
> And also to make Geralt dance. But perhaps there will be more of that soon?


	5. It's Pie you Uncultured Swine

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Geralt asked with a frown as he handed Jaskier his morning coffee. The kitchen was drenched in pale grey light and it looked suspiciously like rain outside.   
Which didn’t bother Geralt too much. He liked rain.   
What did bother him, though, was that Jaskier’s face, which usually seemed to resemble sunlight more than anything, matched the weather perfectly today. Geralt noticed the shadows beneath his eyes even though the other man very obviously tried to hide them behind a smile.  
“Huh? Oh! Totally! Yeah!”  
They looked at each other for a long moment, as if trying to figure out how the conversation was to go from here. Should Geralt ask about it? Insist? Did he have the right to demand an explanation?   
Geralt only knew that he wanted to know what was wrong. Wanted it desperately. That drabness in Jaskier’s face made him feel uneasy, caused his brow to crease without him even noticing. But this was the second time he had asked about it and the singer had brushed it off repeatedly.   
So what was he to do?  
The silence stretched until Jaskier took a first sip and shifted his weight to his other foot and then he began to talk about some dream he had had the previous night and the moment was gone.   
And Geralt tried not to regret his inactivity.

“Oh I can help you with that! No problem! I built a lot of things from Ikea, surely I’ll be able to fix a fence.”  
Geralt let out a sigh and shot Jaskier a mild glare before returning to lacing his boots.  
“Yes, yes, I hear your thoughts. You’re thinking: my god, the city boy thinks pre-packaged Ikea furniture works the same way as our sturdy farm fences. What a fool. What a buffoon! But I tell you, dearest cowboy, I can do it and I will prove it to you!”  
“It’s raining.”  
“Though I am supremely sweet, I’m not made of sugar, I won’t melt.”  
“It’s cold.”  
“So I’ll take a jacket. Really, you think I’m a baby, don’t you?”  
“I’ll take Roach.”  
Now Jaskier hesitated. But not for long.  
“So I’ll walk beside you again. I see no problem. No, dear, you will have to accept my help, it seems like.”  
Without sparing Jaskier another look, Geralt took one of his spare raincoats from its hanger and tossed it to the other man. Then he left through the kitchen door to ready his horse.   
In all honesty he had wanted Jaskier to remain (home) at the farm and have a rest, so that, when he returned, he wouldn’t have to worry anymore. Or blame himself. Perhaps he should not have woken him so early today. Should not have buried him beneath so much work. He wasn’t used to it after all.   
Now that he thought about it, yesterday morning Jaskier had also been strangely quiet.  
God damnit, now he was thinking about this again. No matter how much he tried to ignore the unrest in his heart, the same concerns kept flooding back into his mind unrelentlessly.   
And still Jaskier kept on chatting like nothing was wrong, when everything in his face betrayed him.  
Geralt was overthinking this.  
Roach let out a puff of protest when Geralt dumped the saddle onto her back a little more harshly than necessary.  
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to. Just… Am I doing everything all wrong?”  
The horse nodded her head up and down but Geralt wasn’t sure whether it was a sign of affirmation or impatience. 

Together they rode out to the cows, Geralt trotting ahead on Roach and Jaskier walking beside him with enough distance that he had to raise his voice whenever he delved into another anecdote. They were slow, slower than Geralt would have been had he gone alone. But the sound of Jaskier’s voice mingling with the gentle rain was compelling enough to make him forget any regrets.   
Occasionally, Jaskier went astray to examine a distant flower or jump into a puddle or slide down a slope of mud. By the time they reached the small roof-structure designed to shield Roach from the rain he was properly splattered and soaked.  
“You’ll catch a cold.”  
“I never get sick!”  
“You’ll take a hot bath once we’re back.”  
“I’ll be fine, Geralt! Don’t worry! Really, what’s up with you today? Just show me the fence, okay?”  
“I’m not worried…”  
But he was mumbling and Jaskier didn’t hear that lie.

Towards noon both men were done with their respective tasks and met beside Roach, who was munching on dry grass. Geralt combed several wet curls out of his forehead and, leaning against the railing being him, looked out into the fields. Jaskier approached the spot from behind and settled beside Geralt. When he shifted into a more comfortable position, their arms came to rest against one another.  
“It seems like the rain will cease soon. Look, there.”, Jaskier said, pointing upwards.  
Geralt turned his head to examine the indicated spot of clouds and, sure enough, some blue poked through the dense grey.  
“Maybe we can eat the cake on the veranda later.”  
“Mhhh.  
“By the way, Mr. Cowboy, I managed to hit my thumb only once and then just lightly. So suck it! I told you I could do it.”  
“Mhh.”  
“I can hear the smile in your voice.”  
“Mh.”  
“Yennefer was watching me the entire time by the way. The bull, not the woman.”  
“Mhm.”  
Jaskier let out a small laugh.  
“Good talk, dear.”  
Nodding slightly, Geralt straightened up, breaking contact with Jaskier’s arm.  
“Let’s go back. I’m getting hungry. And you still have to bake.”  
“Right, I do. And take a bath, at the request of a certain someone.”  
“Mh.”

Some time later Geralt sat in the kitchen, an open book lying in his lap, a cup of coffee in his hand. The sky had cleared around the time they had returned and now sent rays of radiant sunbeams into the room. It reflected in the puddles on the veranda outside and in drops of water on the bushes and flowers perched against the house and Geralt was sure that Jaskier would be able to describe the effect they made in beautiful words.   
But right now, Jaskier was busy searching the fridge for ingredients.   
“Do you have butter?”  
“Wrapped in the red towel.”  
“Ahh– wait. Is that self-made?”  
“Yes.”  
“You sure I can use it? Shouldn’t we save it for something special?”  
“Yes. Now.”  
A chuckle.  
“Alright.”  
Geralt averted his gaze and looked back at his book.   
„Do you mind if I turn on the radio?“  
„No. Go ahead.“  
For a while Geralt returned to his book, listening subconsciously to Jaskier‘s noises of preparation. He sorted out eggs and milk and knives and bowls, occasionally asking for directions, always humming along to the radio in the intervals.  
“I‘m surprised you have an electric stove, to be honest. Would have expected gas. Or a bonfire.“  
“Yennefer sometimes forces me to update my equipment.“  
“Ahh. That‘s good. We can‘t have you living back in the middle ages now, can we?“  
“Gas stoves are not the middle ages.“  
“Yes, I know. It was an exaggeration.“  
Geralt smiled at the mock frustration in Jaskier‘s voice and looked up, only to see the other man was already looking at him too. He was holding a bowl in his hand and gently stirred its contents with a wooden spoon.  
“Judging by your books, or at least the ones I‘ve seen lying around, you seem to know quite a lot about the middle ages, don‘t you?“  
Geralt inclined his head.  
“Quite so.“  
“I like that. That you read about history so much, I mean. Alright, now that I said it out loud it sounds kind of weird, I don‘t know why I had to tell you that now. But anyways. Point still stands.“  
He turned back around and added something to the mass in the bowl.  
“Hmm. Are you interested in history?“  
“Me? Ohhh yes! Definitely! Although I prefer to watch documentaries or movies to reading about it. You know, there was a time when I very much wanted to become a fulltime bard. Play the lute at renaissance fairs and such. Dress in leather and linen. Carry a dagger. Maybe have a cute hat with a peacock feather flopping around on its top.“  
“Why didn‘t you do it?“  
Jaskier shrugged.  
“Didn‘t get the opportunity.“  
“Hm. I tried sword fighting once.“  
“You did?!“  
Jaskier whirled around, a gleam in his eyes.  
“Yes. It was good. I was quite good at it.“  
“So you don‘t do it anymore? Why?“  
“No time. Mh. Well, I suppose I technically would have the time. I don‘t know. I just stopped. But sometimes Ciri wants to try fighting against me. I taught her some tricks.“  
“You have to show me some time! That‘s so exciting!“  
“Maybe I will.“  
“Or maybe I should challenge you to a duel.“  
“If you want your ass beaten.“  
Jaskier bit his lip as if trying to suppress laughter.  
“We will see, cowboy, we will see. By the way, where can I find the roll-thingy? To flatten the dough.“  
Geralt stood up to get out the tool. Once Jaskier started applying it to the dough, Geralt didn‘t return to his chair but rather leant against the counter behind, crossing his arms.  
“Can I help?“  
“Oh, no that‘s okay. Not much to do anyways. I just have to prepare the bottom and bake it, cut and cook the apples and then bake everything together again. Do you like cinnamon?“  
“Sure.“  
“Great. In autumn, I should make you Cinnamon Rolls.“  
Geralt tried not to think about the fact that Jaskier probably wouldn‘t be here anymore at that time.  
“You said you only do pies.“  
“Well, that’s not entirely true. But they are what I‘m best at. I made loads of them when– as a teenager.“  
“Why?“  
“Stress. All the kneading, assembling, tasting- it helps amazingly.“  
“Hm.“  
Geralt wanted to know more but refrained from asking. Again.   
Instead he watched intently as Jaskier rolled the dough onto the roller and then deconstructed the whole thing atop the baking form. Gently yet firmly his fingers pressed against the golden mass, squeezing it into every corner and crevice of the form.   
Once again Geralt was fascinated by Jaskier‘s hands.  
Soft and strong at the same time. Unlike his own ones, which were only rough and calloused.   
He tried to remember what it had felt like to have Jaskier‘s hand against his. Back when they had leaned out the barn, when the singer had been too rough with his pitchfork. The memory was hazy, though.  
He noticed his hope of getting another chance like that.  
And quickly dropped the thought.  
Instead he got distracted by Jaskier‘s still wet hair which now wore a light, white dust.  
“You have flour on your head.“  
“Really?“  
“And your face.“  
“Where?“  
After watching him wipe various unstained parts of his skin, Geralt stepped forward and reached out. Jaskier stilled immediately and glanced at him with something akin to expectation. Slowly, Geralt brushed the white substance from Jaskier‘s cheek, lingering over the warm skin.   
Which was turning red. Slowly but surely, Geralt could observe the colour spreading.   
He raised his hand and wiped it gently over Jaskier‘s hair, trying to get the flour out.  
“I think I made it worse.“  
“No matter.“  
“You‘ll have to wash it again.“  
“Mhhh don‘t you think your hair colour would suit me?“  
“No.“  
“Well perhaps you are right. I can‘t imagine anyone else being able to pull it off as amazingly as you do.“  
Their eyes got stuck on one another for a moment.  
Then Geralt stepped back.  
“Except for old men.“  
“No.“ Jaskier laughed and opened the oven, “Not even them.“

They had just finished setting up the table on the veranda when Ciri came running over the porch.  
“Cake! Cake!”  
“It’s pie you uncultured swine!” Jaskier shouted back before flopping into one of the chairs, letting out a deep sigh. A shadow passed over his face but it was gone so quickly, Geralt wasn’t sure it had even been there at all. He didn’t have time to ask, though, as Ciri ran into him headlong, wrapping her arms around his waist in a tight hug. In order to not completely lose his balance, he embraced her back and spun her around a few times.  
“Jesus girl– you’re getting heavier every day.”  
“That’s all my muscles! Here, can you feel them?”  
Dutifully, he squeezed her extended biceps, letting out a hum.  
“Don’t know about that. Think you need more milk.”  
“Hey!” The punch he received on his arm didn’t even tickle. With a chuckle he turned towards the table and sat down beside Jaskier.   
“Where did you leave Yen?”  
“The car. She said she had to make a call. There she is!”  
Promptly the clacking of heels against stone came closer, then Yennefer herself appeared from behind the house. She looked splendid, like always, dressed in a tight-fitted, all-black suit with her raven curls streaming out behind her. Her appearance was quite in contrast to her surroundings.   
“Your yard looks drab as ever. So much mud. You should really install a path.”  
“Why not a red carpet.” Geralt replied, raising one brow.  
“Hmm. Perhaps. Jaskier, hello.”  
She nodded at the singer and received a smile in return, then sat down in the last remaining chair.  
“Made quite an effort with the table, didn’t you? Very cute. Ciri, stop booping the petals. They are fragile. Who picked those flowers?”  
“Me, of course.”, Jaskier smiled.  
“Poor puppy. Must bake and decorate. You could have taken some of the work Geralt, really.”  
“Teasing already?” Geralt mumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  
“Always.”  
“Well, he did take some of the work. He cleaned the kitchen. And set up the table. And he suffered through my endless bouquet problems. I didn’t quite know which flowers to pick.”  
“Daisies!” Ciri chimed in, “They are the best! And there’s so many of them just behind the house! And you can make flower crowns out of them!”  
“Ohhh true! Damn it Geralt, you should have come up with that!”  
“Still time to go pick some.” Geralt was feeling a little attacked by now.   
“But first I’ll have to get the pie out of the oven. Excuse me for a sec friends.”  
With that, Jaskier disappeared into the kitchen.  
“Well, it already smells quite aromatic.”, Yennefer commented as she bent forward to pick up the coffee can. Immediately, Ciri put her hands together and sat up straighter.  
“Can I have some coffee too, please?”   
“No.”  
“Please please please?”  
“I said no.”  
“But I’m already fifteen!”  
“And you’d like to keep your heart healthy for a little longer now, wouldn’t you?”  
With a huff, Ciri fell back against the chair, crossing her arms in front of her chest.  
“That’s what I thought.”  
“Leave the girl some fun. She deserves it.“ Geralt returned Ciri‘s eager smile, knowing very well he was playing favorites.  
“Health issues are not fun, Geralt. Seems like you have some growing up to do yourself.“  
“Alright now, why so mean? Don‘t you enjoy the beautiful evening sun and the smell of freshly baked cake?“  
“Fuck off.“  
Just as Yennefer was done filling up their cups, Jaskier returned to the table, holding a steaming form full of pie in his mitten-covered hands.   
“Careful– thanks. Wow. Transporting that has been an absolute nightmare. I think I burned my wrist a little.”  
Immediately Geralt’s hand shot out, taking a hold of Jaskier’s arm.  
“Mh. Soak that towel in cold water and put it on the burn. I can give you a salve later.”  
“Will do. Thanks dear.”  
Geralt did his best to avoid Yennefer’s burning gaze until Jaskier returned to sit in his chair.  
“Alrighty! Let’s get this cake! I put in apples and cinnamon and some walnuts. I hope no one has any allergies? Great. Hand me your plates then, comrades!”

Contrasting the early morning, the sky was now a brilliant mix of blue and pearlescent white and gold. The sun shone down on the tea party amiably, warming their skin and rendering the world a mellow, sweet orange.   
The pie was an absolute success. Jaskier truly had not exaggerated when he had boasted with his baking skills. In his life, Geralt had tasted a fair share of apple pies, but none had been as wonderful as this one. Perhaps it was the gentle touch of cinnamon, perhaps the beautifully creamy quality of the filling, perhaps the fact that Jaskier had been the baker– no matter, Geralt couldn’t help but demand a second slice.   
Contented silence hung over the table once they were all done eating, when only the coffee remained to be emptied. Even Ciri had slipped into a state of reverie.  
The first to break the calm was Yennefer.  
“Well. Puppy, I must admit, that was truly excellent.”  
“Why thank you Yennefer! That’s lovely to hear!”  
“Mhh. Geralt? You seem dazed.”  
“Hm.”  
“Hmm?”  
“What.”  
“Well, what is it?”  
“... the pie was really good.”  
Jaskier let out a laugh.  
“I’m very glad you liked it, dear! Glad I didn’t disappoint!”  
“Surpassed my expectations.”  
“Ohh high praise from the cowboy, I can feel myself get all blushy!”  
“Because you are! Red as a tomato!” Ciri squealed and fell into a wave of laughter.  
“Alright alright you can cease with the flirting now, please. Unbearable... Tell me, have you two planned anything nice in the next week? You should show the pup around, Geralt.”  
“We have work planned.”  
“Oh come on. It can’t be that bad. Surely you have some free time.”  
“When it gets dark.”  
“I don’t believe that. Aren‘t the cows being taken to the hills soon? Thought it was around this time.”  
“Hmm. They are.“  
“Oh, we really have quite some stuff to do! Honestly, I can’t imagine how Geralt manages it all by himself.” Jaskier mused, turning his gaze on the man beside him.  
“He doesn’t. He overworks himself relentlessly. And then gets sick. And refuses to hire help.”  
“That’s not–”  
“Last winter I had to come over after school and cook him soup for a whole week! And then I had to call Yennefer because he kept trying to get up and go to the barn, even though so many people from the farms around us agreed to split some of the work between them!”  
“Yes. But the idiot did not want to accept.”  
“It’s not about wanting–”  
“And then he got a fever. Quite stupid.”  
“You’re exaggerating.”  
“You know we are not.”, Yennefer murmured and took a sip of her cold coffee.  
“If all that is true,” Jaskier interrupted with a smile, “Then I am very glad I can help. Even if it’s just the minor things like painting fences or whatever. Or physically forcing Geralt to sit down and have a minute of rest. Which I will do from now on, you will see, cowboy.”  
“You don’t have the strength.”  
“Did you just call me weak?! That‘s preposterous! I will–”  
Without any warning Jaskier jumped up and threw himself against Geralt, much like Ciri had done earlier that day. This time, however, Geralt had no possibility of spinning or evading the attack, since he was sitting in a chair. He could only wrap his arms around the man that was now crushed against him and hope that the wall of the house was close enough to stop their descent to the ground.   
For a long moment the two men were a tangled mess– Geralt’s hands were somewhere on Jaskier’s back and Jaskier’s fingers were tangled in Geralt’s hair and their legs were an absolutely impossible knot– and just as Geralt became acutely aware of how warm, how close Jaskier really was to him, the singer’s bell-like voice rang out right beside his ear, erupting in merry laughter. He could feel Jaskier’s shoulders shake against him, could feel how the grip on his hair tightened for a moment, how the world began to tilt until his chair hit the wall.  
“What–”, he grunted, foot striking against a table leg.  
“Oh god– I thought you’d catch me! Well you did! But we still fell!”  
“I don’t–”  
“God I hope the chair won’t break… hang on–”  
Before Geralt could really grasp what was happening, Jaskier disentangled himself and shifted into a more comfortable position. In which he literally sat in Geralt’s lap.  
Geralt looked up into the sky blue eyes that now loomed above him. He knew there were hands on his chest. And that his heartbeat probably felt like the gallop of a thousand horses.  
Slowly, he brought his hand to the wall behind and gave a small push so that his chair riveted back into its original position. His other hand was still holding onto Jaskier’s back.  
“What the fuck Jaskier.”  
“Sorry, I just–”  
Another ripple of laughter.  
“I didn’t expect that to happen. I didn’t think before I acted. My bad!”  
“God. Get a room you guys.” Yennefer’s voice cut through the air, bringing Geralt back into reality.  
“You’re heavy.”, he lied, but it did nothing to make Jaskier move.  
“And you’re comfortable. I should have tried this earlier.”  
“Geralt and Jaskier, sitting in a treee! What are they doing?”, yelled Ciri suddenly only to then proceed to answer her own question by making kissing sounds.  
Geralt really wished she wouldn‘t.   
Really wished he and Jaskier were alone.  
(And then what?  
Listen to yourself.)  
But apparently even Jaskier wasn‘t wholly above embarrassment, for he slowly got up, smiling sheepishly, and then dropped back into his own chair, clearing his throat.  
“Yeah. So. Anyways. Mhhh overworking?”  
“Don’t even try to overplay this Honey.” Yennefer’s expression was inscrutable, quite in contrast to Ciri’s, which was brimming with excitement. But luckily the girl was very easily distracted. Not a second later she suddenly delved into a story about one of her classmates, who apparently had brought an opossum to school the other day. The story was followed by Jaskier and Yennefer discussing the merits and disadvantages of different types of pests, including rats. Geralt didn’t listen to a word of it.  
He was still thinking about Jaskier’s hands in his hair.  
About his laughter right beside his ear.  
About– everything. He found it impossible to separate the different sensations from one another. It was the general picture, the overall feeling that infested his heart, stole his thoughts. It was so much.   
And Jaskier seemed to be totally okay. No heart racing, no nervous brushing away of hair. No trace of any extraordinary excitement in his face, just the usual merriment.   
How did he do it.  
“Isn’t that soon, Geralt?”  
Shit. Yennefer’s voice, directed right at him.  
“Wha?”  
“The herding or whatever.”  
“Cows?”  
“Yeah. Obviously. What else.”  
“It’s soon.”  
“What do you mean by herding?”, Jaskier asked and Geralt had to avert his gaze.  
“Cows being led into the hills, towards fresh grass. Hire a boy for it every year.”  
“Oh, I see! The thing you mentioned earlier!”  
“Geralt I want to do that one day! Live in the hills for some weeks and be with the cows! That sounds so dreamy!”  
“I’ll let you do it when school is over, Ciri.”  
“Promise!”  
“I promise.”  
“Yay! Then I will go swimming in the creek every day! I will set up camp right beside it! And catch fish and search for gold!”  
“That sounds absolutely lovely.” Jaskier said, leaning his chin onto his palm.  
“It is! The creek is beautiful! Crystal clear water and green grass everywhere! And not a soul! Sometimes you can find skulls and bones and feathers lying around!”  
“You should take him there some day, Geralt.”, Yennefer commented quietly.  
“Oh please do! I would love that!”  
“It’s quite a walk. More like a day trip.” Geralt murmured.  
“That’s quite alright with me, you know I like walking.”  
“Yes.”  
He caught the gentle smile Jaskier was sending towards him and couldn’t help but return it.  
“Maybe next week.”  
“Okay.”  
After that the company fell into lazy silence. 

As the sun set over the distant hills, Yennefer set off to go home, leaving Ciri in the care of Geralt and Jaskier. They had promised to give her a ride home later to save Yennefer the trip.   
After having cleared the table outside, Ciri and Jaskier cleaned the dirty dishes while Geralt set out to find a pullover for the singer. Due to the rain at the beginning of the day the air had grown cold, now that the sun was gone. And Jaskier couldn’t remember where he had put his jacket.  
Or so he said.  
Geralt was convinced that he merely had no desire to go all the way to the barn and back again.  
But it didn’t matter, for the sight of Jaskier stuffed into the old, washed-out black hoodie that Geralt had once considered his favorite was just… something else.  
It made him proud. Or was it that?  
He didn’t know.  
He only knew that he liked it.  
And that, judging by the way the singer snuggled into the fabric and hid his fingers beneath the sleeves, Jaskier liked it too.  
God what was happening.  
Geralt was glad that Ciri kept talking for the whole ride, so that he had something familiar to concentrate on.   
All too soon they pulled up in front of her grandmother’s big house. She half-climbed to the front to give both Geralt and Jaskier a good-bye hug, then jumped out of the car.   
They watched her skip through the darkness, over the small pathway leading up to the front door. Geralt could hear Jaskier’s calm breathing beside him, then a rustling as he leant forward.  
“Today was really nice.”  
His voice was quiet, not much more than a murmur.  
“Mhm.”  
“I hope it didn’t exhaust you too much?”  
“Exhaust me?” Geralt asked, turning around. Jaskier’s face was coloured red and green from the small lights on the car dashboard. They reflected in his eyes and on his brown curls, drew patterns on his skin.   
“Well, you don’t seem to be all too keen on company, most of the time. So I was worried that it might have been too much for you today. Just wanted to check.”  
“Ah.” Geralt smiled to himself. “No, I am fine. I enjoyed it very much. Especially your pie. But… thank you for asking nonetheless.”  
Jaskier’s face lit up.  
“Sure.”  
Then his eyes snapped to something behind Geralt, but Geralt didn’t care to avert his gaze as well.   
“Ah, that must be her grandma. Looks lovely. All that grey hair, like a fairytale character. Wait– didn’t Ciri–”  
He glanced at the backseat and reached out to grab something that apparently still lay there.  
“Shit, hang on, I’ll just–”  
A second later he was gone and a cold gust of air hit Geralt through the open door. With a sigh he turned towards the house and observed how the dark figure that was Jaskier ran up to the open door, how Ciri turned around and how her grandmother’s expression turned into a frown. The umbrella was handed over and Jaskier found himself face to face with grandmother Calanthe herself.  
Geralt couldn’t help but chuckle.   
This would be fun. He doubted even Jaskier’s charms could break through the old lady’s icy demeanor. Ciri always proclaimed her to be loving and genuinely sweet but apparently she seemed to have a special hatred for Geralt, since all he ever received from her were scowls and frowns and reprimands for bringing her grandchild home too late.  
But then, to his astonishment, he saw Calanthe smile and reach out to shake Jaskier’s hand.  
Huh.  
Maybe he had simply caught her during a bad day? Every single day that he had met her?  
A moment later the woman leant to the side to throw a suspicious glance in the direction of Geralt’s car.  
Nevermind.  
He waited for Jaskier to finish his (strangely animated) talk and then watched him sprint back to the car.   
“What the hell was that?” He asked, when the singer put on his seat belt.  
“Mh? A conversation? I introduced myself.”  
“I just– she seemed to not hate you.”  
“Uh… yeah? Why would she hate me?”  
“She hates me.”  
“Oh dear, what did you do? Trample her roses? Give Ciri rotten apples? Have prettier hair than her?”  
“I did nothing.”  
“Well, then I’m sure it can’t be that bad. But anyways, I have great news!”  
Geralt doubted that.  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah. She invited us to dinner the day after tomorrow.”  
Geralt had been correct.  
“You’re kidding.”  
“Not in the least.”  
“I am invited too?”  
“Of course! I wouldn’t have accepted otherwise. Although she did seem rather reluctant... “  
Geralt ran a hand over his face.  
“This is going to be a nightmare.”  
“No way. We will dress you properly, do something nice with your hair and bring flowers. It will be great!”  
“Ugh.”  
“Awww, come on Geralt! Do it for Ciri. Do it for me!”  
“It’s not like I have a choice.”  
Still grumbling, Geralt started the engine and drove them home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanna take this opportunity to thank my Raven again– you comments really make my day girl  
> love u


	6. Fillingless Pie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. It's done, finally. For some reason i really struggled with finding the right tone and angle for this one, but I think the way it is now is as close as I can get to what I had in mind originally. Sorry for taking so long, I hope the next chapter will come more easily to me.  
> I'm definetly already looking forward to writing it.  
> There's some adorableness waiting for yall.  
> In thatt sense  
> Yeeye *tips cowboy hat*

It was 3am and Jaskier was about to kill something.   
A fly, to be precise.  
He had never before killed a fly but now sure seemed like the perfect time to start.   
Now, because it was 3am and he was sitting in a barn, surrounded and partially covered in itchy hay, awake against his own will, awake for the fifth time this night, in fact, because some raccoon or whatever other animal that lived in this god forsaken area had decided to start a screaming match with one of its peers about an hour ago. The audacity.  
And just as he had been sufficiently awake to be able to employ his whole range of curse words in his mental ranting, a stray fly had begun buzzing against the beams above his head. Repeatedly.   
Jaskier wished that it would break its neck. He didn’t care whether flies had necks or not.  
He did care, however, about the fact that he had nothing to squash it with except for his phone, which he would prefer not to smash against a very solid log of wood.  
With a loud groan he fell back against his pillow and stared up at the ceiling.   
As much as he enjoyed being with Geralt during the day, these nights were beginning to feel like absolute hell. He had always had trouble falling asleep, but here on the farm, early mornings and a degree of physical exertion that Jaskier was definitely not used to multiplied his tiredness. He didn’t think he could keep up much longer with this sleep deprivation. He’d have to talk to Geralt about it. Find a solution.  
Ugh.  
He did not want to do that. Did not want to admit that he got scared by stupid animals that couldn’t even come close enough to attack him. Or worse, by imaginary ghosts and burglars. That the place Geralt was kind enough to let him live in for free, no less, was responsible for some of the worst nights Jaskier had ever had.   
Geralt would think him a weak, spoiled idiot.  
Which he probably had done before as well but now, as they were finally beginning to bond, to build a friendship, Jaskier dreaded doing anything that could possibly reverse this development.  
He let out a sigh, features softening in the dark and closed his eyes.  
No, Geralt would not hate him. He wouldn’t throw him off the farm for ungratefulness. Nor think him an idiot.  
Geralt was… sweet. And caring. And kind. Surprisingly.   
He would listen to what Jaskier had to say and nod and stuff him into some hotel nearby because he did not have a god damn guest room.   
Right, Jaskier had forgotten about that.   
Geralt’s sweetness would not change the outline of his house. Unfortunately.  
He would just feel bad for having put his guest in this situation and for not having noticed sooner.  
And that was the last thing Jaskier wanted, to make Geralt feel inadequate or ignorant.   
He turned to his side and let out a soft sound of exhaustion.   
Now was really not the time to spiral.  
It was, after all, 3am and he was dead-tired and not thinking clearly. He’d think of a solution tomorrow. Surely.   
Or maybe he would just stop being a pussy and finally go talk to Geralt.  
The fly was still buzzing against the ceiling, never-tiring of its attempt to escape.  
Jaskier tried to drown it out by thinking of the more positive moments these past days had given him.  
It was very efficient.  
He was asleep within seconds.

The interrupted night and Geralt‘s usual, ridiculously early wake up call worked wonders in ruining Jaskier‘s complexion. He was acutely aware of there being shadows beneath his eyes and also of Geralt eyeing them suspiciously.   
But luckily, he refrained from commenting on it.   
Jaskier resorted to desperate measures after breakfast and took an ice cold shower to force at least some degree of wakefulness into his body. It worked minimally for about half an hour, if only for the fact that it left him shivering so hard that he could not even concentrate on being tired.   
So, alright, ultimately it had been an absolute failure, he was forced to admit.   
If it hadn‘t been for Geralt‘s invigorating presence, as well as all for the work to be done on the farm, Jaskier would have surely passed out before noon. Once the midday-mark had been breached, however, and once Jaskier had shoved almost a litre of coffee into his body, something began to change.  
He became excited.  
Not quite the same as awake, but better than nothing.   
With his heart pumping furiously in his chest and his brain sizzling like a badly mended electric cable, he felt absolutely ready to power through the dinner that was due in the evening.  
But first, they had to make Geralt decent.   
“I will not wear a tie.”  
“Ohh come on, it would be the proper thing to do! Plus it could earn you plus points with Calanthe.”  
“I do not care about that in the slightest.” Geralt commented drily before plopping down on his bed. They had argued about the question of outfit for about half an hour now, with Jaskier staring into Geralt’s open wardrobe and Geralt alternately being dismissive and amused.  
“Which does worry me a little. Seeing how close you are with Ciri, I would have thought you two would try and remain on civil terms, at least.”  
“You’re wrong.”  
“I don’t know. She seemed nice enough when I brought Ciri her umbrella. Old and conservative, maybe. Not exactly your picture-book granny with puffy, red cheeks, ready to shove sweets down your throat. But nice.”  
“You will see.”  
There really was no talking about it. Everytime Jaskier touched the topic of Calanthe, Geralt grew dismissive. It was understandable, in a way. He was not one for gossip or malevolent chatter behind other people’s backs. Still, Jaskier suspected that behind that silent facade there was a whirlwind of emotions and opinions and he desperately wanted to know them all.  
But right now his brain was already fried enough so he quickly changed the topic.  
“Well, lucky for you it doesn’t seem like you even have one single tie in your possession. Really, dear, how do you get through life?”  
“Clothes are not that important.”  
“I–” Jaskier whirled around, mouth ajar.  
“I beg your pardon!”  
Geralt smirked up at him from the bed. The bastard knew full well what he was saying.  
“Clothes! Are! Everything!” Jaskier gasped, “ They are the expression of a person! They can make you become anything you want to be! They can make you reach places you never even dreamed of reaching! Clothes are not that important?! Really, I beg your pardon but they are, they really are!”  
“Not really.”  
“Geralt– don’t test me! I’m warning you!”  
“Or what. You give me a make-over?”  
“Maybe!”  
Geralt averted his gaze, smirk turning into– was that a fond smile? Was Jaskier hallucinating?  
“Well, I want to be who I am and I don’t want to be anywhere but here. So, no, they are not important to me.”  
Eviscerated in one sentence. Jaskier couldn’t think of any good comeback, so he turned round to the wardrobe, mumbling under his breath.   
A moment later Geralt spoke up again.  
“Besides, I doubt you’re going to wear a tie, with your open collar-thing you have going on.”  
Jaskier ignored the jolt of his gut at the fact that Geralt took note of how he wore his shirts (did that mean he looked at his collarbone? the slope of his neck?) and let out a small huff.  
“No, I am not. I, Geralt, was actually thinking of wearing a bow.”  
“... a bow?”  
“Yeah. Problem?”  
“...not at all.”  
“Good. Aha! Contrary to popular belief I did find something in the depths of this cloth-abyss. Here, try this on.”  
He threw a plain black button up shirt in Geralt’s direction, who caught it dispassionately and immediately proceeded to take off his shirt. Jaskier spun back to face the wardrobe. Privacy and all that.   
There was a rustling sound as Geralt put on the shirt, then a grunt.  
“It’s… tight.”  
“Much?”  
“Uh… I think… I just… it stretches a lot when I move.”  
Now, Jaskier allowed himself to risk a look.   
Damn. The shirt really was tight. But not in a good way. Geralt’s arms were outlined painfully crisply and the buttons seemed to be barely holding the garment together.   
“Wow, when did you last wear this shirt? Were you sixteen or what?”  
“Probably…”  
“We really need to clear out your clothes… and go shopping! Oh my god can we go shopping today?”  
“We don’t have time.” Geralt answered before peeling himself out of the black shirt again.  
“Ugh, heartbreaking. But fine. Then we have to… improvise… and take this god-damn black flannel shirt. Fabric’s off but the colour will suit the occasion. Do you have Black pants? Dress shoes?”  
“... I think.”  
“Amazing. Right.” Jaskier clapped his hands together, once. “Put them on while I change into something nice and then I’ll come back up to do your hair.” He finished his sentence with a pair of finger guns.  
“My hair?”  
“Yeah. We can’t leave it like that. Maybe I’ll put it up? With a bit of a braid? We will see.”  
Geralt looked less than impressed.   
“Let me at least brush it!” Jaskier exclaimed, already halfway down the hallway.

Not much later Jaskier returned to the room, energetically tapping his fingers on his leg in a vague rhythm. He had picked out the best clothes he could find in the depth of his suitcases, which ended up being dark pants and a shiny, turquoise silk-shirt bearing tigers and lilies. And, of course, a black bow. Not over the top but definitely suitable for a semi-formal dinner hosted by a rather grumpy grandma.   
Geralt was already waiting for him, having taken considerably less time to get changed.  
“We have to leave soon.” he said, glancing at his wrist, despite not even wearing a watch.  
“Won’t take long. I promise”  
Jaskier jumped on top of the bed and knelt down behind Geralt, who tensed up almost immediately.  
“Relax, I’ll just brush and tie it. Not rip it off your head.”  
“Mh.”  
“A little trust would be nice here.”  
“I trust you. Just… not used to it.”  
“Well I’m very happy to change that. I adore your hair. I would swim in it if I could.”  
Geralt let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.  
“Weird but I would! It’s true.”  
They fell silent as Jaskier began brushing through Geralt’s white hair. Truth be told, he had been rather curious about how it might feel. From afar it seemed to be very thick and bristly and very dry. And it was dry, but upon further inspection Jaskier realized that, actually, the hair was very fine– there was just a lot of it, which added to the illusion of thickness.   
He combed his fingers through the strands gently, parting and rejoining them together.   
He had always loved playing with other people’s hair, had enjoyed how calming it was for everybody involved. And surprisingly enough, Geralt seemed to like it too.  
His shoulders had begun sagging until he sat totally relaxed, head yielding gently to Jaskier’s motions. His breath was calm and even and his hands lay unmoving in his lap.   
They sat like this in silence for a while.  
Occasionally, Jaskier’s fingertips brushed the base of Geralt‘s neck and he could feel a tingle move up his arms and into his cheeks. The first time, Geralt pulled away slightly, probably out of surprise. But then, the second time, much to Jaskier‘s astonishment, Geralt let out a hum. It wasn‘t loud, really, just a very low, barely audible sound that Jaskier would have missed entirely, had he not been so close. (But now he would probably spend weeks thinking about it.)  
He cleared his throat.  
“I can‘t decide whether to just put them up in a simple ponytail or add a braid.“  
His voice seemed unnaturally loud after this period of silence. He lay the brush aside and instead put his hands on Geralt‘s shoulders, eying his hair critically.  
“...do whatever you want.“  
Jaskier let out a quiet laugh.  
“Well, I don‘t know what I want. I think a classical look would fit your personality better. But a braid would be prettier. Then again, would pretty suit you? I’m not sure.”  
He thought about the dilemma for a moment, fingers tapping gently on Geralt’s shoulders. Eventually, he announced his decision.  
“I’ll go with classical.”  
And so he gathered the strands into one hand and simply tied them up.  
“...rather unspectacular. I’d have expected you to go crazy with hairspray and all that.”  
“Oh, no, I hate hairspray. It makes the hair go all sticky and weird and it’s hell to try and get it out again. Good to know that you would have let me, though.” He grinned before adding: “And, well, actually I just wanted an excuse to do this–”  
He gave Geralt three pets on the head.  
“... great.” Geralt answered curtly but there was a tilt to the word that made him sound quite pleased.   
“So now that you’re done, let’s leave.”

Night was about to fall when they arrived in front of Ciri’s house.   
Jaskier had spent the drive staring out of the window, watching the sky turn a darker shade of blue with every second. The moon was obscured by single strands of anthracite clouds that passed into the distance with considerable speed. The wind was howling.  
Neither of them spoke in the car. Jaskier had turned the country station on, mainly to hum along to the music but he knew none of the songs. Since he did not want to annoy Geralt unnecessarily, he turned it off again.   
Now they were sitting in the silent car, staring at the luminescent house before them. Golden light streamed through the windows, illuminating rose bushes and grass and flower pots residing in the garden. Geralt let out a sigh.  
“You seem apprehensive.” Jaskier murmured, glancing over at his companion.  
“Hmm.”  
“Think of the great food. And dessert. You wouldn’t get that at home.”  
“There’s still some of your pie left.”  
“That’s hardly comparable to a three-course meal.”  
“I’d prefer it.”  
Jaskier couldn’t help but smile.   
He unfastened his seat belt and reached over to do the same for Geralt.  
“Come on. They are probably waiting already.”  
It took a moment longer before Geralt managed to get himself out of the car. Jaskier followed close behind, holding a bottle of wine they had brought as a present close to his chest.   
In all honesty, he was not too keen on much social interaction himself. He’d rather take a nap. Preferably in their living room with Geralt reading by his side.  
But okay. He had brought this onto himself and it wouldn’t be that bad, now, would it? Just a night of polite pleasantries.  
He rang the bell on the front door and took a step back, knocking against Geralt’s side. Neither of them made a move to bring more distance between them as they waited for the door to open.  
“Geralt! Jaskier!” Ciri practically shouted once she laid eyes on them. She wore a white dress that glowed in the lamplight streaming out from the corridor behind her. Jaskier offered her a brilliant smile, stretching out his arms.  
“There she is, looking utterly magnificent. Come here!”  
Jaskier pulled her into a hug before stepping aside to make room for Geralt. As they delved into a series of greetings, Jaskier went ahead and entered the house.   
Before he could go far, though, the familiar figure of Calanthe stepped out from what appeared to be the living room, startling him with her sudden and demanding presence.  
“Good evening. Welcome to our home. I see, you have already greeted our granddaughter. My husband is still in the kitchen, preparing the apéritif. Oh, is that wine for us? Delightful.”   
Jaskier, who had been unable to throw in so much as a word, watched helplessly as she retreated into the depths of the house, carrying the bottle with her. With his arms stretched out in confusion, he turned back towards Geralt and Ciri, but none of them had paid attention to the strange welcome. They were busy talking about a horse. Roach, probably.  
With a small sigh and nowhere else to go, Jaskier entered the living room.   
The interior decoration was interesting, to say the least. Someone had apparently had a faible for the colour white. White cushions, white carpet, white shelves and cupboards. White curtains, white walls, white lampshades. Even the floor was covered in shiny, titanium white tiles. Jaskier felt like standing in the waiting room of a hospital.   
The only speck of colour was a collage of family photos (in white frames) on the wall above a very squishy looking sofa. Out of curiosity and lack of anything better to do, he stepped closer and examined them.   
Ciri was the most popular sujet. She appeared in various stages of childhood and in various outfits. Jaskier’s favorite was probably a smaller photograph of her wearing a frilly, pink dress. She pouted furiously, evidently unhappy with the outfit choice.  
He let out a chuckle and moved his gaze upwards. There was one wedding portrait of a much younger Calanthe and a rather stout man with a moustache who seemed to be her husband. His arms looked like he could either give very good hugs or suffocate a man within two minutes. The huge smile on his face seemed to indicate the former possibility. Contrary to that, Calanthe’s expression contained more subdued mirth, if mirth at all.  
The next photo showed two people he could not quite place. It pictured a couple sitting beneath an oak tree, arms slung around one another. The woman had long, pale blond hair and striking, green eyes. She looked almost like–  
“Ciri’s parents.” Geralt said suddenly, from very close behind Jaskier. “Pavetta and Duny.”  
Jaskier let out a small sound of recognition and squinted slightly.   
“Oh… They look… happy.”  
“Mhh. They were.”  
Of course, hearing of their death sparked a certain sadness in Jaskier, a feeling of pity one would get for anyone suffering a tragic end like they had. But now, seeing them before him, holding onto each other, smiling and laughing, the whole event became much more tangible and personal. Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation, or maybe just the fact that he was terribly emotional anyways, but he suddenly felt choked up.   
Not a good start to a dinner party at all.   
He sniffed, tore his gaze away from the photograph, tried to look back at Ciri’s frilly dress and angry frown to distract himself– and then Geralt touched his back.  
It was only a light contact, barely discernible, but the amount of comfort coming from it almost made Jaskier tear up for good.   
Luckily someone stepped into the room just then. It was the stout man from the picture.  
“Geralt! Good to see you again! Looking healthy as ever. And you must be the young friend Ciri has told us so much about!”  
The man stepped forward and grabbed Jaskier’s hand, then proceeded to shake it furiously.  
“There’s a strapping young lad. My name’s Eist, I’m Calanthe’s loving and devoted husband and I welcome you both in the name of my wife and my granddaughter. Sorry, your name was–?”  
There was a strange, foreign tilt to his vowels that Jaskier couldn’t quite place. Scandinavia, maybe?  
“Jaskier. Nice to meet you.”  
“Ahhh right! Knew it was something with J. Come in now, come in! The dinner’s ready and the table set! Let’s quit wasting time on banter and get to the feasting quickly, aye? Come Geralt! Don’t stand around there so uselessly! Lead the way!”  
After a moment of hesitation Geralt stepped away from behind Jaskier’s back and walked past Eist through an arch into the adjoining room. Immediately, Eist grabbed Jaskier’s shoulder and pulled him along after Geralt. 

An abnormally large table stood in the middle of the dining room, almost filling out the entire space. As with the living room before, everything was kept in shades of white– even the flowers on the table.   
There was no wall separating the dining area from the kitchen, only a kitchen island that was currently crowded with plates laden with food. Calanthe stood beside the oven, glancing inside at what smelled like baked potatoes while Ciri danced around the buffet gingerly.  
“Sit down– yeah, here. Opposite of Geralt. Ciri! Stop stealing food and sit your ass down!”  
“Eist!” Calanthe scolded and Jaskier couldn’t help but chuckle. Ciri came running over to the table and climbed onto her chair, licking something off her fingers. She seemed to be totally unfazed by the stern look her grandfather directed at her.  
“Sorry…” she lied, looking at Geralt with a grin, who smiled back, albeit rather weakly. Evidently satisfied, Eist turned back to Jaskier.  
“Soo, how do you enjoy life at the farm, hm?”  
“Quite a lot, actually!”  
“You come from the city, right?”  
“Yeah.”  
“So how come a young one like you chooses to spend his holidays in a place like this?”  
“Well, funny story, actually. Technically I am currently travelling around, giving concerts at whatever pub or bar I can find. But when I came here, I met Geralt and his friend Yennefer and uh, just… moved in with him temporarily.”   
Any explanation of the situation that Jaskier tried out in his head sounded rather unsatisfactorily. The whole thing was ridiculous, after all.   
“Moved in? I thought you were just here for a couple of days?”  
“Well, we haven’t really talked about it yet…” He threw Geralt an amused look.  
“But I’ve always wanted to experience the country life. It’s been something of a dream of mine. So I really appreciate having been granted the opportunity now.”   
(And having met Geralt through it– especially having met Geralt through it.).  
“Huh… curious. And is it just as you had expected?”  
“Ah, well. In a sense, yes. But then again not. I mean– the work is about as exhausting as I thought it would be but–”  
“Aha!” Eist let out a bellow of laughter. “Not just writing names on trucks and cold beers and pretty young lasses in checkered dresses, huh?”  
The man had the audacity to wink at Jaskier, who was feeling himself blush.   
As far as he knew no one else had used truck-inscription in the country genre before.   
So Eist knew about his music. And he seemed to find it as ridiculous as Geralt did. Great.  
To his surprise, though, the man did not elaborate on the topic.  
“Well, anyways, back to more serious stuff. I hope none of you is allergic to walnuts because I put a hell of a lot of ‘em in the sauce for the main course. My wife rather likes ‘em, you know? And we gotta make her happy, always.”  
He sent a huge grin over to Calanthe, who was just coming over to the table, carrying a tray with four small glasses filled with a bright orange liquid. Either she had not heard the comment, or simply chose to ignore it. No matter, for Eist just kept on talking.  
“A Spritz for aperitif! One of my favorite drinks. Very partial to the colour, me. Like sunset in a glass.” He said, sounding rather proud of his description.  
“That’s a really nice use of words…” Jaskier remarked, smiling.   
“Thank you young man! Finally some appreciation! But it was only to be expected of a young poet like you, I suppose.”  
“Poet? Didn’t you say he was a songwriter?” Calanthe asked as she sat down in her seat.  
“I am, yes. But I would argue, actually, that writing songs is similar to writing poetry in the sense that–”  
“Oh I don’t think so.” Calanthe interrupted him. “In my opinion Poetry is the superior form of art. Fit for the expression of higher feelings and emotions. Whereas songs, nowadays, at least, serve more to create base dreamscapes catering to the masses.”  
She took a sip of her drink.  
“But you know more about that last part, I am sure.”  
What–  
Did Jaskier just get dragged by this woman or was he misreading the situation completely? He caught Geralt’s gaze but there was no answer coming from those quarters either. Just light amusement.  
He cleared his throat and tried to overcome his confusion.  
“Well, uh. Do you like poetry?”  
“Oh, some.”  
“Really! What kind?”  
“Classics. I quite enjoy Wordsworth, I must admit. ‘Lines Written a few Miles Above Tintern Abbey’ is a personal favorite of mine. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it?”  
Jaskier tried very hard to suppress the snort he very much wanted to offer as an answer and he would have succeeded, had Geralt not lightly kicked his foot beneath the table as a warning. Just then Jaskier had attempted to take a sip of his drink, though, and so the snort turned into more of a choke. Through the ensuing cough, he nodded with difficulty.  
“Yeah– think I know it– Wordsworth–”  
“Want a slap on the back?!” Ciri suddenly exclaimed, almost jumping up from her seat.  
“No– thanks–” One last cough and Jaskier was back to normal breathing.  
“I’m good now. Thanks though.” He sent the girl a warm smile and received one in return.   
Then she suddenly knocked her palms on the table and looked around excitedly.  
“Granny, did I tell you about the apple pie Jaskier made for us the other day!?”  
“Don’t yell like that, girl.” Calanthe murmured with a slight frown. “But yes. You did. Apparently it tasted marvelously.”  
Jaskier did not like the small, debasing smile Calanthe wore when she said this.  
“Ciri exaggerates...”   
“I disagree.” Geralt suddenly interjected. “It was very tasty.”  
He looked up to meet Jaskier’s gaze, then held it for several seconds. Jaskier couldn’t help but grin.  
“Tasty is a far cry from marvelous.” Calanthe answered, training her piercing gaze on Geralt. He did not return the eye-contact but instead started spinning his glass around in his hand.  
“I meant it to be synonymous with your description.”  
“Hm.” The old woman said nonchalantly, shrugging, displeasure coating her face. It was clear that she had more to say on the matter, but for some reason, she did not carry on.   
Evidently not eager to pursue this line of conversation that would probably just end in mutual disagreement, Geralt simply dropped the topic, leaning back and crossing his arms in front of his chest.  
They sat in silence for a long moment, the only sounds filling the room being the clinking of glass and creaking of chairs. Eventually, Eist took mercy on them all.  
“So shall we serve the first course then? Don’t know about you but I am absolutely ravenous.”  
The only person to answer this request was Ciri. She raised her fist and let out something akin to a warcry, which earned her a disapproving glare from her grandma. Eist evidently took it as assent, for he stood up to collect the dishes from the kitchen.   
Jaskier took a breath and another, bigger sip of Spritz.   
This dinner was going to be fun.

Truth be told, the food was mad good. Eist had been the chief cook this evening and he was surprisingly efficient in his usage of herbs and spices. The dishes themselves were not exactly extravagant (Mashed potatoes with steak and cooked vegetables) but the seasoning made them totally worthwhile.   
From a culinary standpoint, Jaskier really had no problem with the evening whatsoever.  
From a social standpoint, however, he could not have been more aggravated.   
Anger had never been a very big part of Jaskier’s emotional landscape. He was ready to forgive almost any offense against himself and tended to romanticize people to a point at which, in his eyes at least, they could hardly ever do wrong.   
So it came as a surprise even to him that the table conversation this evening shook him so badly.   
Perhaps it was the excessive lack of sleep, perhaps just a random whimsy of his mind.   
Perhaps it was the blank look on Geralt’s face everytime Calanthe chose to drop a passive-aggressive comment about his lifestyle.   
Perhaps it was the frequency with which Eist alluded to Jaskier’s music by way of borderline impolite jokes– Whatever the reason, by the time they had reached dessert, Jaskier was ready to fall into bed and stay buried beneath blankets for at least a month.   
He really tried to remain civil and calm but at some point, probably once he had consumed his second glass of wine, his thoughts had begun to erupt into tangles of words and melodies and echoes of echoes of things he had once heard somewhere, which caused concentration to leave the chat for good. His hands were feeling shaky and numb and all he really wanted to do was run around the countryside for an hour or so to calm his nerves.  
Tonight he was really in no condition to navigate the social obstacle course that the dinner hosts unwittingly raised up in front of their guests.  
Over time the atmosphere in the room had become ever more stifling. One could not utter a word without risking a disapproving remark from Calanthe’s side, or a lengthy and seldomly relating anecdote from Eist’s.  
Under normal circumstances Jaskier would have managed just fine, but today the situation was simply exhausting and Jaskier could sense that Geralt was equally as frustrated.   
He had kept his conversation minimal the whole evening, only occasionally exchanging anecdotes with Ciri or commenting on the food. His face was a mask of cool indifference and it only added to Jaskier’s discomfort. After all, he was the indirect reason for Geralt having to pass the evening in company he so disliked.  
And on top of it all lay the fact that neither Calanthe nor Eist seemed to be noticing the awkward air that lay over their guests.  
Ciri, on the other hand, was more perceptible and tried to fuel the conversation with any comment she could think of. Unfortunately, it wasn’t always working.  
“By the way– You should all thank me for having such an amazing dessert tonight! I made the cream myself and melted the chocolate and put it on the cake!” she burst out once everyone had gotten their plate.   
Geralt inclined his head, a small smile on his face. It seemed rather forced.  
“They look delicious. You truly improved this meal” Jaskier remarked, internally cringing for the hidden implication in his speech, that the other dishes so far had been less than satisfactory. Ciri, however, did not seem to notice. She perked up immediately.   
“I can show you how to do it!”  
“I would love that!”  
“And you show me your pie!”  
“Of course. A fair exchange.”  
“And then we have cold iced tea on the veranda and watch the cows walk in the distance and talk about dinosaurs!”  
“A wonderful idea. And as a treat, we can write our names on Geralt’s truck. I’m sure he’d love that.”  
Even while saying this, Jaskier regretted having alluded openly to his country album. Someone at this table would probably have to say something about it now. He was not mistaken.  
“Jaskier, I actually did want to ask you about that one–” Eist exclaimed, leaning forward and pointing his fork at the singer. “Some of the stuff in your music, I get. Watchin’ the sunset, ridin’ horses, all that country bullshit common to every song of this sort. But what is it about that truck thing? Writin’ names on it? For what?”  
Whatever he said now, Jaskier knew that Eist didn’t actually care for the answer. He hadn’t asked to be convinced, just to state his opinion. Normally Jaskier would have tried to find something witty or ironic to say, but his mind was empty. So he stuck to the truth.  
“Well… it was supposed to be something romantic. Or pseudo-romantic, at least. Like carving initials into trees. I just… found the idea cute. Taking a Sharpy and signing a car. It was supposed to be funny.”  
“Hmpf.” Eist answered, frowning deeply. Evidently he did not get the joke.  
“Well, your imagination is impressive. However, you must have noticed by now that none of that’s actually real?”  
He leant back in his chair, a look superiority on his face. It seemed like he was at least half-expecting Jaskier to be heartbroken over the fact that his music was somewhat removed from reality. Newsflash!  
Jaskier, to be honest, was just glad that they had finally reached the point of conversation he had been dreading the whole evening.   
The inevitable judgement of his art.  
He was already fairly accustomed to the ordeal.   
First, he would be diagnosed as naive, if not borderline delusional.  
Then, he would be forced to enjoy some benevolent education provided by the kind and generous critic themselves, since Jaskier was obviously too blinded to understand reality.  
Next, he would have to listen to various, probably well meant but nonetheless infuriating jokes that would all degrade his music.  
And finally, he would be given advice for the future, at least one of which being: get a real job.  
Such a conversation was boring at best, maybe a little tedious at the worst and Jaskier was fairly used to sitting through it. Usually, he’d adopt a facade of indifference, maybe polite restraint and simply wait until it was over, or until he could find an excuse to flee.   
But not today.  
Something in his brain finally snapped and his vision went blank for a second.  
Despite knowing that he was about to do something very stupid, he glanced up to look Eist straight in the eye.  
“I don’t know how stupid you think I am but yes, I have actually noticed that there exists a certain discrepency between what I sing about and what life actually looks like. I believe that is common with what people call ‘art’. But it’s of course very nice of you to inform me of the fact that my lyrics tend to be on the more romanticized side of things because without you, I certainly would not have noticed.”  
He finished off by taking a deep breath, eyes and cheeks burning, fingers clutching his fork. The fog of anger that had clouded his mind momentarily was slowly dissolving, only to be replaced by the dawning of regret.   
“Whoah– I did not call you stupid, I just– Well, come, Geralt, you will agree with me when I say his songs are just unrealistic! That’s all I mean! It’s a fact! Nothing to get so worked up about!”  
Geralt, apparently confused about everything that was happening right now, seemed unsure of what to say.  
“I don’t think– Maybe you shouldn’t–”  
“I am just stating my opinion and I honestly don’t see what’s so wrong with that. This is a conversation after all. It’s something you do at a dinner party. Am I supposed to lie or what?”  
Eist had settled back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He pushed his lower lip forward slightly, assuming a defensive air.   
As if the situation wasn’t already bad enough, Calanthe decided to add her opinion to the mix as well.  
“No, dear, you are not. It is quite right that everyone should have the right to say what they think. Art is subject to critique and every artist should learn to deal with that or stop putting themselves out there, if they can’t handle it. That is how I see it.”  
Jaskier dropped his fork onto the table, biting his cheek to stop himself from bursting into tears right there and then.   
He couldn’t help himself. He’d been in exactly this type of situation years ago, with his parents. The memories rose in his mind, overlapping with images of the present. A terrible static filled his ears, along with pure dread for having lost control in his anger.   
It was only when he looked up to meet Geralt’s concerned gaze, that he finally found the presence of mind to spring up from the table and end this misery for all of them.  
“Excuse me.” He mumbled, before rushing out of the room.  
He hurried through the corridor, bumping into a dresser on his way. His throat was constricting painfully, making it ever more difficult to draw breath. He flung open the front door and stumbled onto the lawn, tearing on his bow in an attempt to wrestle it off.   
The cold night air hit his face, giving him a moment of clarity in which the bow finally yielded to his shaking fingers.  
He clutched it in his palm and started running towards Geralt’s car.   
The moment he fell into the passenger seat, he dissolved into tears.


	7. A Pile of Blankets and a Bit of a Ramble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a wholesome story exclusively so I had to redeem myself from the last chapter.  
> Get yourself a nice hot drink and put on some late night Jazz music, this one is for warming your heart and making you feel good.

The first thing Geralt heard when he opened the car door was a stifled sob.   
He hesitated before sliding into the driver’s seat, unsure of whether his presence was wanted or not. Eventually he decided that there was only one way of finding out.  
For a moment he simply sat there, listening to Jaskier’s hitchy breathing, before reaching out to close the door.   
Then he looked out of the window.   
Ciri’s house looked just as bright and welcoming as it had when they’d arrived earlier. If he tried hard enough, he could almost pretend that none of the actual dinner had happened yet, that they had just arrived, that Jaskier was just about to encourage him to finally get out of the car, that he wasn’t curled up on the seat like a ball of misery.  
Before he could seriously entertain the thought, though, said ball of misery suddenly spoke up. His voice had lost its melodious richness and was reduced to a shaky croak.   
“... you’re mad… aren’t you…”  
Geralt turned his head in surprise, eyes fixing on Jaskier, who was more a shadowy outline of a person than an actual figure in the dark car.   
“... I’m not.” he answered, almost whispering.   
“Don’t lie to me, Geralt, please…”  
Geralt took a breath, averting his eyes.  
“I’m not mad.”  
“Why are you not saying anything, then?”  
“I–”  
He leant back in his seat, smiling a small, mirthless smile.  
“I don’t know what to say.” That wasn’t quite true. “No– I– I don’t know what… you need to hear. I guess.” He took a breath, regretting how shit he was at this.  
Jaskier sniffed loudly.  
“Tell me I wasn’t the most horrible creature tonight. Tell me I didn’t completely ruin the evening they prepared so carefully. Tell me it’s okay that I fucking snapped at people that meant no harm and insulted them in their own house just because I have underlying issues they didn’t know about!”  
His voice had risen steadily with every word and crescendoed in a deplorable series of sobs. Jaskier shot forward, burying his face in his shaking hands.   
Hoping dearly that it was the right course of action, Geralt tentatively raised a hand, then pulled it back again, then let out a sigh before reaching over quickly and resting his fingers against Jaskier’s heaving shoulders. The gesture triggered another series of sobs before Jaskier raised his head slightly, revealing his red-rimmed blue eyes.   
“I just– I’m so tired– so damn tired. Of all that.” He gestured vaguely at the house. “Of being treated like a child all the time–” Suddenly, he broke off, glancing nervously at Geralt. “I’m sorry– I shouldn’t go into that right now. You don’t want to hear that, I’m just upset and whining I–”  
“Jaskier.”  
Jaskier went quiet.  
“Look at me.”  
Jaskier looked at him.  
“Take a breath.”  
Jaskier took a breath.  
“Now exhale.”  
Jaskier exhaled.  
“Good… I’m sorry you had to endure– all this. And you’re right to be upset.”  
Even though his expressions were still awkward, Geralt at least managed to get his words going. That was a start. It would suffice for now.  
They looked at each other for a long moment. Then, by some sort of unspoken, mutual agreement, moved towards each other simultaneously, meeting halfway.  
Jaskier fell against Geralt’s chest, who encircled his shaking form with his arms, pulling him close. The pose wasn’t exactly ideal for the environment they were in, since it meant that Jaskier was squished uncomfortably in between the gear stick and the arm rest. He did not seem to care, though, nor notice, but simply clung onto Geralt’s back.  
For a long while they simply sat like that, Jaskier’s face buried in his shoulder, Geralt holding him close, chin resting on top of his head, staring out of the window. Waiting patiently.  
Gradually Jaskier’s shaking shrunk to a small tremor before ceasing entirely. He did not move away, though, but remained motionless except for a gentle rise and fall of his chest.  
That was when Geralt decided to speak up again.  
“I do want to hear about it. If you’re willing to tell me.”  
Jaskier swallowed thickly against Geralt’s shoulder.   
“Are you sure…?”  
“Yes. We should… talk about this. At home.”  
“Yeah… okay.”  
They parted reluctantly, Jaskier flopping back into his seat, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist. His tears seemed to have dried for now, but his eyes were still feverishly bright when he looked back up at Geralt with a crooked smile.  
“Thank you Geralt… Your hug-game is really great… I might have to make use of it more often.”  
Geralt shook his head softly and moved to put on his seat-belt.  
“Let’s go home. And then you tell me everything.”  
“That sounds lovely.”

Half an hour later they arrived at the farm and Jaskier had successfully managed not to break into sobs again. He was quite okay for now, actually. It was okay.  
He was just about to loosen his seat-belt and step outside, when Geralt suddenly reached over and touched his arm.   
There was a strange gleam in his eyes, something like determination.  
“Wait in the car. I’ll be back in a second.”  
Jaskier blinked.  
“What– Wait, what are you–” But Geralt only slammed his door shut and ran up to the house. For a long while Jaskier simply stared at the front door, trying to comprehend what was going on, before his eyes burned too much to keep them open any longer. With a sigh, he closed them and leant his head against the window.   
Guess he’d have to wait.  
After several minutes and with still no new developments, Jaskier let out a long sigh.   
He really wanted to change into something more comfortable. Lie down somewhere. Take a nap for a week or so.   
Or have a bubble bath.   
God yes.   
Hot water, foam smelling like heaven itself, a soft sponge…   
Jaskier could almost feel it swirling on his skin…  
The softness… the comfort… the steam wandering into his lungs–  
Suddenly the door behind him opened, causing him to start.   
He twisted around in his seat, hoping dearly that it was just his favorite cowboy and not some late-night burglar and luckily, it was.  
“Jesus! Geralt, what the hell are you doing? What is that?” He gestured at the gigantic pile of blankets Geralt was just stuffing into the back seat.  
“I‘ll explain in a second.“  
He closed the door and came back around the car to flop back into the driver‘s seat.  
“What took you so long? Is something with the house? Has someone broken in?“  
“No. Here.“   
He dropped a black hoodie into Jaskier‘s lap before starting the car engine.  
“I– where are we going? Geralt, please, explain yourself. You‘re scaring me a little.“  
As they pulled out of the driveway, Geralt glanced over at him, a shy smile on his lips.  
“You wanted to talk. I know a good place for that. It’s a surprise.“

Geralt was buzzing with anticipation. On the drive home he had thought about the evening, deeply regretting his own neglect and impassiveness. If he had spoken up for Jaskier sooner, surely the situation would not have escalated like that.   
The thing was: he actually wanted to do better. Which was unusual, to say the least.  
His way of averting trouble was to be as non-confrontational as possible. Instead of commenting on Calanthe’s derogatory comments, he would simply swallow them up and try not to be too bothered. That’s what he had done for years and why he had never gotten into a proper fight with some neighbourhood dunce before. He simply chose not to take offence.  
But Jaskier being the target of such an attack fired him up more than he would have deemed possible. Even during the dinner, he had felt this anger flare up inside him at every stupid remark. At the time he hadn’t really known what to do with it.   
Sometimes he’d encounter a similar feeling with Ciri, when she told him of something hurtful her classmates had said to her. But he had never actually been present then. There was nothing he could do but console her, so every time he chose not to let the anger reach him.  
This time, he had been right there. And he’d had the opportunity to stand by Jaskier. And he hadn’t been able to take it.   
And he hated that. Actually hated that.   
Which was another, new, overwhelming emotion for him. (What the hell was even happening.)  
But since he had been an absolute failure of a… friend… for the whole evening, he decided to make at least the night worthwhile and comfortable and pleasant.   
Because Jaskier deserved it.   
And Geralt felt like going out of his way to grant it, just a little bit.  
(Seriously, what the hell was happening.)  
And so he had driven them out to a hill not far from the farm, where they could sit alone amidst the fields and talk and look at the sky. Hence the bundle of blankets in the back seat.   
He had parked at the foot of the hill where a very bewildered Jaskier had asked him, once again, to explain what was going on. But Geralt had merely motioned for him to follow before turning to climb the incline.  
Once he had arrived on top, he turned around to look out for his companion, when he noticed that Jaskier had already stopped a few paces away and was looking at him, hands buried in the pockets of the black hoodie. His face was shrouded in darkness, making it impossible to decipher his expression.  
“What’s up?” Geralt asked, frowning slightly, fearing he had made a mistake.  
“...this is where you wanted to go?”  
“...yes?”  
Jaskier took a few steps towards him.  
“You wanted to take me stargazing?”  
Geralt threw a look at the sky and shifted his weight to his other foot, still confused.  
“I did. Do. Don’t you…?”  
For a moment, Jaskier turned away and Geralt was half sure that he would run back to the car, demanding to be brought home right again.   
But when he turned back around, his face was illuminated by a brilliant, absolutely stunning smile. Its intensity caught Geralt so off-guard, he almost let the blankets fall to the ground.  
“That is literally the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I–” He giggled softly, raising a hand to his lips and averting his eyes for a moment.  
“Oh my god… I thought you were going to– actually I didn’t think anything. And certainly not this. I don’t know what to say now, to be honest.” He let out another short laugh and came over to take the blankets from a still stunned Geralt, then spread one of them out on the grass. A moment later he had flopped down onto it, wiggling around a little to make himself comfortable.   
Geralt followed quickly, trying to regain his speech.  
“... I’m glad you like it. You looked… displeased.”  
“Oh, no, I was just surprised, is all. More than surprised. I’m happy to be here. Very happy.”  
They looked at each other for a few heartbeats, faces shining in the moonlight, before Jaskier suddenly turned to untangle the remaining blankets. Suddenly a box that had been hidden between them fell to the ground.  
“What’s that?” He exclaimed, reaching out to pick it up.  
“Apple pie. Thought it might be nice to…”  
Geralt trailed off, suddenly flustered.   
Now that his plans were actually being realized, he felt almost embarrassed for his own ideas. He wasn’t used to interactions like this.   
Of course, he regularly planned to do something nice for Ciri or Yennefer, but the former usually thanked him with childish, absent-minded excitement, already immersed in whatever gift she had received, while Yennefer tended to offer next to no acknowledgement. She was more of a non-verbal person, preferring to give Geralt something equal in return and not expecting much reaction from him, either.  
Jaskier, however, was all starry-eyed, focussing on Geralt like a laser beam, like everything else in the world had ceased to exist. It was quite strange, being in the spotlight like that. But not bad.  
“It’s very nice. I could use something sweet right now, to be honest. Something sweet to eat, I mean. You already provide me with your sweet presence, after all.”  
He smiled (Totally disarming Geralt in the process) and reached out to wrap two blankets around them both, scooting so close that their shoulders were pressed flush against each other. Geralt instinctively leant into the touch and took the box from Jaskier. He opened it, revealing a big piece of cake and two forks.  
“Right then…” He murmured, taking one of the forks while Jaskier picked up the other. “Let’s talk.”  
“Oof. That’s not a good way to start the conversation. Makes it sound so serious.”  
“It seemed to be serious.”  
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t deny the fact and view it in a humorous light instead. Make it more bearable.”  
“Mhh.” He broke off a piece of pie and pushed it into his mouth, trying to find a better way to start the conversation.   
“So… you have been in this situation before? People calling you stupid for your art?”  
“...yeah. Several times. I mean, I don’t really have a problem with that in general. I’m fine with someone disliking my songs. They are stupid, after all. Yes, I admit, I know they are stupid. Which does not make me love them any less, though. No…” He took a deep breath and ate a piece of pie before continuing.  
“What bothered me so much was tonight specifically. The dinner, the atmosphere… I have been somewhere like this before. With my parents. Yes, I have giant mommy and daddy issues. Big reveal. It’s kind of pathetic, to be honest…”  
He paused for a moment and Geralt waited patiently for the tale to continue. He enjoyed the way Jaskier told stories. He had a way of illustrating his words with obscure hand gestures, his slender fingers gliding through the air gracefully.   
“I’ve never really gotten on well with them, ever since I was old enough to become difficult to handle. Anything I was interested in or wanted to do was deemed unacceptable by them. Anything that wasn’t useful or sure to get me prestige, that is.   
Oh, I should probably mention that I grew up in a… richer area. My father owns a real-estate company which does pretty well and he makes full use of the profits. We had our own swimming pool in the garden and all that. Charity events. Fashion shows organized by pubescent rich kids. Of course, I was never allowed to take part in any of it, save for being in the audience. Mother owned her own horse and went riding every weekend. There’s a fun story connected to that, by the way, explaining my dislike for horses. But I’ll tell you that one some other time. Today we don’t get to the fun parts. Although, I suppose it wasn’t really fun, either. Rather traumatic.   
Anyways, I don’t really want to go into details with all this. My teenage years were pretty sad and just a blur of frustration, really.”  
He let out a snort.  
“Don’t laugh, but I had a massive emo-phase at some point. That’s when I started to discover music for myself. My parents let me learn the piano for a few years, but it was never much fun for me. They insisted on me doing classical pieces only, which wouldn’t have been so bad had my teacher not been the dustiest, snobbiest person on earth.   
Mr. Cronsby. Hate the man. He always wore a washed-out tweed jacket, a checkered jumper and a collared shirt with a tie. Always! And for some reason he usually had coffee stains on the tie. What I hated most about him were his fingers, though. So dry and crinkly. And he used to put them over mine sometimes to show me how to play which–”  
He shuddered.  
“Anyways, once I got older and began to develop my own taste of music, find bands I liked, songs I felt connected to, I started getting really into it. By the time I was finished with school, I knew that I wanted to become a performer of some sort. I’ve always adored performing. I was very active in the drama club. And I was a cheerleader during my past two years at school.”  
“What?” Geralt interrupted, totally surprised by that fact.  
“Yep!” Jaskier, replied, laughing. “What, you comment on that but not on the emo phase?”  
“... I don’t exactly know what an emo phase is.”  
Jaskier turned his face to him, eyes wide.  
“Oh, Geralt, you sweet, sweet summer child… I will have to educate you on that one.”  
“Please don’t”  
“No, I will. At some point.”  
“I’ll pass.”  
“I’ll convince you otherwise.”   
Jaskier pointed at Geralt with his fork before pushing another piece of cake into his mouth.  
“Okay… where was I… Right. Performing. I had started experimenting a little with music, mainly rock, and dearly wanted to publish an album and become a singer. Find a band. Live the cool, stage lifestyle. Get the hell away from my parents, basically. We had… numerous fights about it.   
Back then I still bothered to confront them about my dreams directly, even though I could never seem to win the argument. In the end, they somehow convinced me that it would be best to get some sort of higher education before, and I quote, ‘throwing my life away’. I guess they hoped I’d grow out of it eventually and take over the family business. Newsflash: I didn’t. If anything, studying Business and Economics for five years made me despise the life my parents wanted for me even more.”  
“You got a degree?”  
“Yep. This boy is a Master of Business and Economics, baby. Very impressive, I know.”   
“I… do find it impressive. Isn’t it a lot of maths?”  
“God, yes, that too. Worst shit ever. I hated literally every second of it. And my peers were so god-damn dull, too. I think those were the loneliest, most aggravating and brain-damaging years of my life. I couldn’t concentrate on anything anymore. Between all the numbers and nightmarish conversations, my brain just stopped functioning whenever uni was over. I couldn’t even do music anymore.   
Funnily enough, though, I discovered classic western movies during that time, too. They were fun, yet silly enough to require next to no effort to understand them. I could escape somewhere exciting for at least one hour and a half. I think I actually watched at least one of them every single evening. Basically to avoid having to think of anything else. If TikTok had been around back then, I would have used those mental breakdowns to become an internet celebrity, for sure. Ugh… I was hopelessly ahead of my time...  
So, from that point on, it all went downhill. Unsurprisingly the idea of hot, buff men on horses riding around the prairie with not one soul in sight, except for other, hot, buff men in cute hats, was extremely alluring to me. At first I began to listen to Country ironically, seeing it more as entertainment than something I actually like. But at some point, after having made like thirty Cowboy playlists, I had to admit to myself that this little obsession was getting pretty serious.   
It was strangely similar to the emo-phase: Country was a way to gain access to a world beyond whatever I was currently living in. To something that made me happy, even if it was dumb and silly and a bit outdated. But it is, arguably, more wholesome than emo.   
So, after I finished that dreadful Master’s degree, I did absolutely nothing for like half a year. Except for working at a local record-store, that is, since I wasn’t exactly keen on receiving money from my parents.   
I also met loads of new people that were just like me. I joined a theatre group. I did a writer’s workshop at some point. I did everything I could get my hands on, to be honest. Now that I had the time, I took every opportunity that vaguely sauntered my way. It was fun, for a few months or so. Parties every weekend. Clubs. Private gatherings. You get the gist. I rarely spent one second by myself, I was always somewhere.  
And one night, after realizing that all of that bullshit was just aimless meandering, that got me virtually nowhere and that I just subjected myself to because I had no fucking clue of what to actually do with my life, I got really drunk on the floor of my kitchen, cried and wrote down notes for a whole ass country album. And the rest is history.”  
He took a large bite of apple pie, letting out a sigh.  
“Sorry, that was a bit of a ramble.”  
“Don’t apologize. You tell it very well.” Geralt answered quietly, glancing up at the sky.  
“Guess that writer’s workshop was good for something, then.”  
“Mhh.” He replayed Jaskier’s last few sentences in his head, not really satisfied with the ending.  
“How come you ended up here, though?”  
“Oh. Well, I wrote that album in a week of fevered frenzy and with copious amounts of cider and PBJs in my system and posted it to Spotify on a whim.   
And then I spent another week listening to it on repeat, trying to pretend I was actually living in the songs, longing to be a stupid cowboy.   
And then I snapped and decided, fuck it, why not, I’ll just… go. And then I had a very pleasant dinner with my parents, where I described the situation, made it clear that I did, in fact, still wanted to become a full-on musician and that I had already brought out an album. I made them listen to the first track. Needless to say, it didn’t go well. And that’s why today was so bad for me.”  
He threw Geralt a vague smile.  
“Well, and then I decided to leave this god-forsaken city and began touring the cowboy-esque states. I basically travelled from small town to small town with no particular goal in mind, looking for no-name pubs that would accept my style of music.  
And then, one night, there was this gorgeous, absolutely stunning, white-haired man in the audience that felt it necessary to tell me, to my face, I might add, that my songs sucked.”  
“I didn’t say they sucked.”  
“I know you didn’t. But what makes you think that you are said gorgeous man? Maybe I meant someone else from a different town?”  
Geralt felt himself blush and tried to find a suitable answer, but Jaskier was faster.  
“No. It was in fact you. Of course. It’s not like I meet handsome, white-haired strangers in pubs every single day. But yeah. Then I moved in with him, spontaneously, because it seemed like the right thing to do and also like the fulfillment of all the dreams I have harboured since I was a teenager.”  
He chuckled softly to himself, eyes fixed on the stars.  
Geralt watched him for a moment, transfixed by… everything, really.   
“And is it?” He asked, although he already knew what the answer would be.   
Jaskier gazed back at him, blinking.  
“It’s even better.”  
“Good.”  
Silence spread between them. Jaskier looked back up at the stars and Geralt reached out to close the emptied box and put it aside, before leaning back against his companion and following the direction of his gaze.   
Eventually, Jaskier let out a sigh and spoke up again.  
“What are you thinking about?”  
“... You.”  
“Me?”  
“Your story.”  
“Oh. What part.”  
“The one where you are a cheerleader.”  
Geralt smiled when Jaskier leant forward, shaken by a loud laugh.  
“Really?! That is the most memorable thing to you?”  
“Not most memorable. I’ll be… thinking about others for a while… And if you’d like to talk more about them, I’m here. But I knew you’d laugh if I brought up the cheerleader thing. And right now, right here, that’s all I wanted to achieve. ”  
After a second of silence, Jaskier bent down his head and rested it on Geralt’s shoulder.  
“You’re…” He trailed off, looking down at his joined hands.  
“... I am?”  
“Wonderful. It’s not quite the right word but I can’t think of anything better now.”  
“...I take it.” Geralt answered, leaning his head back against Jaskier’s.  
“Good. So… What’s your story? I’m curious now.”  
“Oh. It’s not as grand as yours. I didn’t do much, ever.”  
“I still want to know.”  
“Mh.. Well. I grew up on the farm with my uncle Vesemir, and my brothers Eskel and Lambert.”  
“You have siblings?”  
“I do.”  
“Really! I would never have guessed!”  
“Well, now you know.”  
“Wait, where are they now, though?”  
“I’d tell you in a second, if you’d stop being so impatient.” His smile was audible in his words.  
“Okay, okay. Sorry grandpa. Carry on.”  
“Eskel, Lambert and I were all adopted. Our mothers came from surrounding villages. From what I gathered I think that they were all unmarried and had to somehow get rid of their unlawful children. And Vesemir, who lived basically in the middle of nowhere, happened to get involved in that. So he ended up having to care for us. There’s not much to say about my childhood, other than that it was pretty good. We went to school, helped on the farm, played all day long.   
Then we grew up, finished school, still helped on the farm. At some point, Lambert found a boyfriend in Europe. Met over the internet. That’s when they all suddenly started thinking about selling the farm and moving somewhere more crowded. I guess the idea had been in the room for some time, by that point. It was a whole debate, went on for months. In the end they all left to go to Germany and I stayed here on the farm, alone. And that’s pretty much it.”  
“What?” Jaskier exclaimed, sitting up and lifting his head, much to Geralt’s chagrin. “That’s it? There’s at least half a lifetime you did not tell me about. Like, why didn’t you go with them?”  
“I love the farm. Why would I leave? I don’t need anything else.”  
“I know you keep saying that and I was actually wondering about this– don’t you get lonely sometimes?”  
Geralt smiled.  
“Sure. But I doubt living in a city would be any different, in that aspect.”  
“How so?”  
“Hm… I don’t connect well with people. You might have noticed. I don’t… really ever know what to do with them and few people have the patience to put up with that. I tried building contacts. But the lack of genuine bonds made it… worse. I’m just no good at it. ”  
“Ah… That kind of lonely.” Jaskier answered and Geralt almost went in for a hug when he understood that Jaskier knew that feeling, or at least something like it, himself. Instead, they looked at each other for a long moment.  
“Well. I count myself double lucky, then.” Jaskier grinned, pulling the blankets around his shoulders tighter.   
“Indeed.”  
“Okay, so what about your brothers? What are they like? What are they up to in Germany?”  
“Mh… Lambert is a little shit. Used to get into fights all the time. He’s the loud one in the group. And the fun one. Went on to get a degree in game design. He’s still with his boyfriend.   
Eskel is the sensitive one. Used to get Lambert out of fights. All the neighbouring grandmas were wild about him, since he was actually polite enough to listen to their boring stories. They’d give him candy and he’d bring it home and share it with us. He went on to study psychology.”  
“And which one of the group are you?”  
Geralt grinned slightly.  
“The stupid farm boy?”  
“Nooo that’s not true! You read thick books like, all the time. Come on, be serious. I bet you are like… the actual cool one. With a leather jacket and a pair of shades that would send all the ladies crazy for you.”  
“Vivid imagination. But no. Guess I am the quiet one.”  
“You’re not That quiet!”  
“Well, with your capacity for conversation, one is forced to answer frequently.”  
“Ah– What! Are you calling me a chatterbox! How dare you!” Jaskier boxed his fist against Geralt’s arm, causing no damage at all.   
“Here I am, complimenting you, and you say shit like that! Unbelievable.”  
“Well, you are. Kind of.”  
“Doesn’t mean you have to rub it in my face like that. You, who doesn’t even know what an emo phase is.”  
“Okay okay. I apologize. But I don’t take it back.” He swallowed. “I like your chatter.”  
“... well you better.” Jaskier answered, obviously trying to suppress a smile.   
They fell into silence after that, both looking up at the multitude of stars above them, leaning against each other in the darkness. Geralt could have remained here until morning. Listen to Jaskier’s gentle breathing, watch the smile on his lips. Knowing that it was he who was responsible for it.   
But eventually Jaskier began to shiver and yawn more frequently, until finally, his eyelids started drooping. Before he’d fall asleep in the middle of nowhere, Geralt roused him and convinced him to go back to the car and, ultimately, home.   
By roughly half past two in the morning, Jaskier dragged himself up the ladder in the barn, too tired and, frankly, too happy to care much about the darkness around him. He couldn’t care less about imaginary burglars or wild raccoons or ghosts right now and he had a feeling that tonight, he’d finally get some good sleep.  
Before his head hit the pillow, he had already drifted off into the world of dreams.


	8. All Eyes On Us

Surprisingly enough, Jaskier had spent a very pleasant and restful night. No raccoons, no strange creaks, no howling wind– just blessed silence and the sweetest of dreams.  
Maybe his sleep-deprivation was finally coming to an end.   
Geralt was visibly surprised when he came into the barn and, instead of finding Jaskier in his usual, dishevelled state, was greeted with a radiant smile and a cheery “Good morning!”. As was to be expected, though, he did not remark on it, but only told Jaskier that coffee was ready and that he would ride out into the fields to see the cows off. They were being taken to higher regions by a specially hired herder that day, where they would stay for a few weeks.  
Jaskier followed Geralt into the kitchen and watched him prepare two cups of coffee in the pale morning light. The sky was filled with soft, grey clouds that flitted south with remarkable speed. Jaskier leant against the doorframe of the terrace door and watched them go by, cup warming his soft hands. A moment later Geralt joined him on the other side of the frame and thus they stood for a while, watching the sky in silence, drinking their coffee.   
Eventually Geralt let out a sigh and tapped his fingers against the terrace door.  
“Right. I’ll have to ready Roach.”  
“I can do the washing up.”  
“Thanks.” He handed his cup to Jaskier. “You coming with to the cows?”  
“Yeah, sure! Let me just get dressed properly real quick and I’m ready.”

Half an hour later Jaskier joined Geralt and Roach in the yard. He kept his due distance to the horse and sat down on a log behind Geralt, so that he could watch him work.  
Upon seeing him approach, Geralt raised his brows.  
“You’re bringing your guitar?”  
“Yes! The cows loved it when I played for them last time! And, who knows, maybe we find a nice spot and you can get a song or two too. As a treat.”  
He was absolutely soft for the fond smile spreading on Geralt’s face after these words.  
“As long as it won’t rain.”  
“It won’t.”  
“How do you know?”  
“Uhhh… I don’t. But I’ll manifest it– Argh!” Jaskier exclaimed suddenly, when Roach let out a loud neigh, taking a step towards him. She was merely shifting her weight, as horses do, but that small motion was enough to almost send Jaskier running across the yard.  
“Oh my god! Roach! You spooky– creature! Don’t come near me, please, don’t do that to me–”  
He stopped his nervous exclamations when he heard Geralt chuckle loudly. He had grabbed Roach by her reins and guided her away from Jaskier to re-establish a more respectable distance between them.  
“Don’t laugh at me, Geralt! This is serious!”  
“It’s just a horse… and a cute one at that.” He had the audacity to purse his lips at Roach and give her a gentle pet on the snout.  
“Just a horse… demons from hell! Look at her eyes! There’s nothing in them, just a void of eternal darkness! I wouldn’t trust a horse with my life!”  
“Hm.” Geralt made, before looking over at Jaskier with a squint. “You said there was a story behind that yesterday night.” Maybe he was imagining things, but Jaskier thought there was a certain softness in Geralt’s gaze when he said that.   
“I did.”  
“Well… care to share?”  
“It’s not that impressive. Pretty much what you would expect, I suppose.”  
“I’d like to hear it anyway. Understand your fear. Try to convince you otherwise.”  
As touching as that offer was, Jaskier took a huge step back, shaking his head vigorously.  
“Oh, no, no sir, that is not happening. You won’t cure me of my phobia. And you neither will change the fact that horses are satan’s messengers!”  
“Roach is not. She is a good horse. Now tell it.”  
“Ugh… fine.” Jaskier fell back down onto the log and crossed his legs over one another, taking a deep breath. “Basically, I once almost got run over by a horse. I told you how my mother is into riding and all that. She used to go to this farm every weekend and would take me with her. Probably to get me into it as well. It was all fun and games and I was in the throws of building an intense, platonic relationship with her horse, Columbus. Terrible name, I know. But then the beast just… lost it. In hindsight, it was probably my mother's fault. She is not exactly… gentle. Beat the horse a little too hard with the whip and all that. And one day, when she was taking care of it after a day of training, she accidentally applied too much force when cleaning its hoof and Columbus reared up, kicked over a bucket and began tearing on his– uh… what’s the name?”  
“...halter?”  
“Yes. Thank you. So, he began tearing at it and my mother, like the absolute fool that she is, hadn’t fastened it well enough so that it untied itself, leaving the horse free to go on a little rampage. In the five minutes or so that Columbus tyrannized the farm yard he managed to kill one cat, the farm’s favorite, knock over a wheelbarrow full of hay and, to my absolute fucking delight, kick me in the god-damn shoulder. He also hit my mother in the shin but I was too busy having a dislocated shoulder to notice!”  
“...wow.”  
“Exactly! Someone managed to catch that beast and calm him down and I was brought directly to the hospital. It was a painful experience, but luckily nothing was broken. The one good thing about this experience. That was also the last time I saw Columbus. My mom insisted he’d be put down.”  
Geralt made a face of disgust.  
“Yes, I know. I thought the same. It seemed rather cruel to me at the time, despite what he had done to me.. But her pride was offended or whatever, since she was basically the laughing stock of her rich horse-friends. So she pretended that it hadn’t been her fault, but that her horse was insane.”  
Jaskier stretched out his arms and let out a long sigh, before looking over to Geralt. He had leant against a small fence behind him the whole time, arms crossed over his chest and eyes trained on Jaskier.  
“I see.”  
“So… can you now understand why I hate horses?”  
“Kind of.”  
“Kind of?!”  
Geralt had just turned around to drop a saddle on Roach’s back and was now kneeling beside her, fastening the belts beneath her soft belly.  
“Yes. I see why you’re scared of that one horse. But he was treated badly, it is excusable. Did any other horse ever give you such an experience?”  
“...no. But they look at me funny.”  
It was actually audacious, how Geralt grinned at that.  
“They don’t.”  
“They do! Roach has been staring at me for the whole story now, as if she, too, would like to give my poor, frail shoulder a kick!”  
The horse let out a puff of air which sounded almost like a huff. It made Jaskier draw back slightly and raise his arm.  
“Don’t pretend like you understand what I’m saying!”  
“She does understand.” Geralt said, standing up and coming over to Jaskier with his hand outstretched. “Sometimes. Come on.”  
Jaskier looked back at him with big eyes.  
“Come where…?”  
“Pet the horse.”  
“No?!”  
“Yes.”  
Before Jaskier could flee, Geralt had grabbed his hand and pulled him onto his feet.   
“I’ll be right there with you.”  
“I doubt you could shield me from a horse attack, Geralt.”  
“There will be no attack.”  
“Why do you need me to do this exactly? There is no reason, is there? Please let me free?” Jaskier rambled as he was being pushed forward by Geralt, who kept his hands firmly on Jaskier’s back.   
“Because you live on a farm and you want to be a cowboy. And both things require at least a tolerance for horses. Now stretch out your hand.”  
After a long moment of hesitation, Jaskier tentatively raised his hand, just a little.  
“Stretch it out.” Geralt repeated, taking his hand once more and bringing it over to Roach’s snout. He mercifully ignored the small sound of fear that escaped Jaskier once his fingers made contact with the horse’s smooth skin.   
They stood like that for a moment, both watching their hands rest in Roach’s face while the horse did its best not to look too bothered about it. Eventually, when she did not show any sign of violence whatsoever, Jaskier tentatively let his fingers slide over the smooth fur.   
“There you go.” Geralt murmured beside his ear.   
“I–” Just at that moment, Roach flicked her ears to get rid of a stray fly and Jaskier retracted his arm so fast, his whole body recoiled from the animal, bumping into Geralt.   
“Fuck fuck fuck!” He exclaimed, virtually shrinking into Geralt, who stood unmovingly, just watching.   
“It’s nothing.”  
“Geralt I’m scared please let me go!”  
“One more pet.”  
“Geralt please I swear! I’ll die!”  
“Here–” Geralt mercilessly took his hand and brought it back towards Roach. This time, however, the horse actually raised her head and nuzzled into the touch a little. Jaskier was speechless for a moment, all his agitation melting away.   
“There we go… See, she likes you.”   
So it seemed. Roach let out a soft snort and nudged Jaskier’s, and, by extension, Geralt’s hand, again, moving rather carefully. Jaskier watched in amazement, not really knowing how to feel about this moment. This was the first time in years that he did not feel like crying when directly confronted with a horse. But then again… whenever horses got near him, Geralt had never been present too.  
All of a sudden Jaskier realized just how close Geralt was. He raised his head and looked up, just as Geralt gazed down at him as well. They looked at each other for a long moment, their hands still joined together. Then, suddenly, Roach’s lip bumped against Jaskier’s fingers, sending him squealing again.  
“NO! Nope! Stop!”  
This time, Geralt actually let him go. If Jaskier had paid more attention at that moment, he would have seen the blush in his companion’s cheeks. But he didn't. A moment later, it was gone.  
“That was good. You did well.”  
“Yeah, and I never want to do it again, holy shit. I bet you she wanted to test whether I just look sweet, or whether I taste like it, too.”  
With an amused huff Geralt attached a pair of bags to Roach’s saddle, before turning back towards Jaskier.  
“You’re being dramatic.”  
“I– yeah?! Obviously? Have you Met me, Geralt?” Jaskier replied, sinking into an exaggerated mock-swoon.  
“I have. And I didn’t say I was surprised.”  
He climbed into the saddle and settled down.  
“You walking again? Or do you fancy a ride?”  
“Absolutely not.”  
“You can sit in the front.” Geralt gestured before him, a strange, almost mocking expression on his face. As much as the offer tempted Jaskier– because, come on. That would mean being semi-hugged by Geralt for at least half an hour. Which was… more than ideal– he shook his head.  
“Not gonna join you on that hell-machine. No chance.”  
“Fine. Some exercise will do you well anyways.”  
“AH– Ex–” Jaskier started forward when Geralt brought Roach into motion, just as he began his sentence. “Excuse me?! Did you just call me fat?! That’s preposterous!”  
“I didn’t!” Geralt shouted back, but a grin was colouring his voice .

The skies cleared on their way to the cows and by the time they arrived, the sun was shining brilliantly. Jaskier kept straying from the path constantly, running around the grass plains and wildflowers as fast as the guitar on his back allowed. If Geralt grew annoyed by his spontaneous outbursts into random musical numbers, he did not show it. However, Jaskier once caught him with his face turned to the sun, eyes closed, mouth turned into a content smile. He regretted not having taken his phone with him, or else this would have been the perfect opportunity to take a picture. Actually, he realized, taking a picture of Geralt would be a good idea in general. Who knew when he would leave the farm, and if he would ever see any of the people he had met here again.   
This thought made him come to a sudden stop.   
He did not want to leave. Ever.   
Yes, he had phantasized about farm-life and the country, but now that he was actually here, he recognized that this actually was what he really wanted from life: A tranquil existence, manual labour, nature, even horses. Playing his guitar in a field of flowers in the evening sun. And, although he hardly dared thinking of him in that way, a loving partner.   
Jaskier swallowed and tightened his grip on the strap of his guitar. He watched Geralt ride on, slowly building more distance between them. His face was still turned to the sun. He seemed happy.  
He had seemed happier than at the beginning of their acquaintance for a few days now.   
When Jaskier had spotted him in that bar, there was a strange apathy about him, a sort of mysterious aura. Like nothing could ever come near him or bother him. And now, after Jaskier had lifted the veil of his rough facade more and more, Geralt had changed right before his eyes. He seemed so much livelier now, even excited.   
It was audible in the way he sometimes began to hum a song Jaskier had sung during work, visible in the way his eyes lit up whenever Jaskier made a light-hearted joke or praised the beauty of their surroundings. The apathy was gone without a trace.   
And Jaskier was at least 80% sure that he was part of the reason for this transformation.   
Just then, Geralt suddenly turned around, apparently searching for his companion.   
“Jaskier! Don’t fall behind!”  
The addressee let out a soft laugh and took off at a run, catching up to his friend.

While Geralt was busy instructing the cow herder, Jaskier sat down amongst the animals and whipped out his guitar. Almost immediately the cows caught interest and shuffled over tentatively, stretching their necks towards him. Jaskier smiled and regarded them for a while before reaching out to pet the nearest one, Snowball, gently on the snout. She let out a small huff and lay down in the grass, tail flicking in the air.   
“So, Guys. You liked my little performance last time, so what song shall it be today, hm? It’s farewell for a while, so it should be something melancholy, shouldn’t it? Or would it be better to part on a hopeful note?”  
He thought about it for a moment and tested out a few chords, before settling on the latter option. Without really planning it out he improvised a simple melody and soon added some verses.  
“Dear Ladies of Fluff,  
Our time was but short,  
But–”  
He halted for a moment, thinking about the right words.   
“–you’ll find great stuff?  
That the hills… hoard.  
Oh wow. That was terrible! Okay let me just, talk to this melody until I find something better… uhhhh… Oh no… this is a failure I really don’t know what to say oh wait okay– I got– I got something I think– Uhhhh–  
You are a delight  
I love to visit your plain!  
Now quick, take your flight,  
I shall see you again!  
In colder days  
When the sun runs low  
I’ll send out my gaze  
‘Til you in the distance– grow– shit–”  
He broke into laughter, silencing the guitar abruptly.   
“Okay, amazing, that was horrible!”   
Several cows snorted in confirmation.  
“I’m terribly sorry guys, I don’t know what’s up today. But if I can’t sing, I can at least give you all a nice boop on the snout, right?” He looked over at Carrot Cake, who seemed to have no objections whatsoever and got up from the grass. Jaskier gave each animal the promised caress one by one, until he arrived at the last candidate, which happened to be Yennefer, the bull. He seemed tranquil enough, standing a few feet apart from the group and looking rather bored, but Jaskier was still unsure whether it would be entirely safe to approach. He remembered Geralt’s warning words a few days ago, instructing him to take care of the bull’s frequent mood swings.   
Luckily, at that moment, Geralt’s voice rang over from behind the fence, saving Jaskier from this dilemma.  
“Jaskier!”  
He shouldered his guitar and gave the cows one last wave, before returning to his friend.  
“Already done talking?”  
“Yes. They must leave quickly, they’re on a schedule.”  
“I see. Do you miss them already?”  
“Hm… not really. They will be happy in the hills. And it’s less work for me.”  
“One less thing to take care of.”  
“Hmmm.”   
They watched the cows depart for a moment, before Geralt added:  
“You’re already more than enough, anyways.”  
“Oh my god! What is it with you today?! Stop roasting me!” Jaskier exclaimed only mildly angrily and lightly punched Geralt in the arm, which did not seem to have any effect whatsoever.  
“It’s so easy to rile you up.”  
“I don’t like this.”  
“I’m sure you don’t.”  
“Geraaaalt!”  
Geralt let out a laugh, an actual, full-hearted laugh, and leant forward against the fence. With a small pout and an unhealthy amount of heat in his face, Jaskier did the same, leaning his chin on his palm.  
“You’re mean.”  
“I’m sorry. A little bit.”  
“You better be.”  
“Mh.”  
They remained like this for a moment, before Jaskier had an idea.  
“Hey. How about we go over to that small hill and I sing you a song before we return home?”  
Geralt looked at him warily.  
“I don’t trust your choice of music enough for this.”  
“I can play other things than country!”  
“Are you sure?”  
“Of course! Come on, you deserve a moment of peace. I’ll make sure to sing something extra-beautiful for you.”  
Geralt kept grumbling all the way up the hill but actually did not seem to be too averse to the idea. They settled down in the high grass, Geralt lying down and closing his eyes against the sun shining down on them from above. For a short moment Jaskier was rather distracted by his friend’s relaxed face. His features, usually so set and firm, seemed softer now and smooth.   
Jaskier quickly snapped out of his reverie and cleared his throat.   
“Right, okay. Here we go…”   
He struck the first chord and drew it out, made it more dramatic, before moving on to the next one.  
“This is a special one for you… listen closely…”  
Geralt let out a hum and waited as the chords rolled along. Eventually, Jaskier’s voice rose softly, forming the first few words.  
“He walks in like California…  
Talks more like Tennessee–”  
“Oh, fuck off Jaskier! Seriously?!”  
As Geralt covered his face in his hands, Jaskier broke into laughter, which did not keep him from singing on, though.  
“He was raised to find a gentleman,  
His Mama sure loves me  
He's a little bit of hip-hop and country  
I'm a little more rock and roll  
When you mix in a little bit of whiskey  
We sound like a radio!”  
He finished off with a violent strum of his guitar before dedicating himself fully to laughing.  
“I should have known.” Geralt grumbled, sounding rather displeased although there was an obvious grin on his face. “This is ridiculous. You are ridiculous.”  
“I’m hilarious is what you mean!”  
“Never.”   
Geralt made a move as if to sit up, but Jaskier stopped him by quickly putting a hand on his chest.  
“No! Wait! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll play you something real now, alright? I promise.”  
Even though Geralt did not seem too trustful, he let himself be pushed back down into the grass, all the while regarding Jaskier with a suspicious glance.   
“Okay. Here we go.”  
Once again Jaskier strummed his guitar, but this time the music sounded infinitely more peaceful and soothing. Geralt seemed to feel somewhat assured, for his gaze softened and he turned his head a little so as to better watch Jaskier play. A moment later, he began to sing.  
“I have never known peace   
Like the damp grass that yields to me.  
I have never known hunger  
Like these insects that feast on me…“  
Jaskier turned his eyes onto his guitar, before closing them softly, letting the music take a hold of him.   
“A thousand teeth,  
Yours among them, I know  
Our hungers appeased  
Our heartbeats becoming slow.”  
So concentrated was he on the feeling of the song in his throat and the sun on his face, that Jaskier didn’t suspect that Geralt was watching him closely. But he was. One of his hands was resting on his stomach, feeling the slow movements of his breath and the beating of his heart in his ears intermingled with the sensation of Jaskier’s flowing voice. He was transfixed.   
With every new word time seemed to drift away more and more, becoming a long-forgotten construct. Geralt could not imagine that this moment would ever end or that the song would be finished, nor did he want to. All he wanted to do was reach out and take Jaskier’s hands and bring them up to his lips and say something sweet.   
He did not even care to question this vision, just accepted it.   
“We lay here for years or for hours,  
Thrown here or found  
To freeze or to thaw  
So long we become the flowers  
Two corpses we were  
Two corpses I saw.”  
Jaskier opened his eyes then, only to meet Geralt’s warm gaze. He felt his cheeks grew hot but it wasn’t in an unpleasant way, rather the opposite. He gave Geralt a soft smile and promptly missed his cue.  
“Oh– Uh–” A moment later the song fell apart and he let out a chuckle.  
“You distracted me.”  
“I didn’t do anything.”  
“You smiled.”  
Geralt smiled wider.  
“There. Again.”  
Jaskier put his guitar to the side and leant forward towards his friend, placing his guitar in the grass before him.  
“Did you like that song better?”  
“Much.”  
“That’s what I thought.”  
They looked at each other for a long moment, a strange understanding passing between them, before Geralt suddenly said:  
“Jaskier... “ He drifted off.  
“...yea? Is there something coming?”  
“Mh. Tell me, is there anywhere you have to be any time soon?”  
Jaskier raised his brows.  
“That’s a hell of an ominous question, dear. What do you mean?”  
“Do you have to go home somewhere?”  
“...your farm?”  
“So that’s a no?”  
“Uh, I guess? Wait, I don’t quite understand what you’re saying, I’m afraid.”  
Geralt let out a sigh and moved his hand towards Jaskier’s.  
“You said you’re touring the country for concerts. I just wanted to know if there’s… a limit. To how long you can… stay here. With me.”  
Jaskier looked at him for a moment, before suddenly sliding his fingers over Geralt’s.  
“There is not.”  
Geralt nodded, eyes glowing strangely, lips parting in a smile that Jaskier hadn’t quite seen before. Hints of it, yes, but not in this intensity.   
He felt himself mirroring it as they exchanged glances for a moment longer, before Jaskier, too, lay down in the grass. He did not let go of Geralt’s hand and scooted closer to him until their shoulders were touching.   
“I love being here.” Jaskier whispered, eyes fixing on the passing clouds. He felt that he had to concentrate on something, or else the butterflies in his stomach would surely overtake him.  
“Mhh.” Geralt answered and seemed incapable of saying more.   
And so they both fell into silence, their hands interlaced in the soft grass, the sun shining down on their faces with golden beams.

Jaskier thought of this moment when he lay up in his barn with burning eyes at roughly 1 am.   
It almost made him cry.   
He was so goddamn tired.  
Honestly, after last night and the absolute comfort that this day had been, he would have believed that the sleepless nights were over forever.  
But no. Apprently not.  
There was screeching outside. And a fat spider clung to the wall beside him. And hay stuck in his clothes. And his skin was itchy. And he could feel the tiredness cling to his eyes and limbs but he just wouldn’t. Fall. Asleep! It didn’t work. His mind was running around in circles and every time he came close to the dream world, his sleeping position became too uncomfortable and he had to shift which would just wake him up again and–  
“Fuck!” he yelled into the darkness, sitting up suddenly.   
“I fucking had it– this is enough…”  
He finally caved. He’d leave this hell house and get back into Geralt’s living room and sleep on the floor or the couch or whatever– as long as he would be able to just sleep! Even though this meant that he’d have to walk barefoot through the pitchblack yard, possibly getting in the way of whatever raccoon ran around out there.   
He didn’t care.  
After boxing his blanket and pillow into a neat pile, he threw the whole package down the ladder and climbed after it, lighting his surroundings with his phone. There was literally no other light source around, so if his phone should suddenly die, he would be standing in perpetual darkness and probably begin to cry in earnest.   
But the phone held fast and got him safely through the barn and out into the yard.  
That’s when he saw the light burning in the living room window.  
Shit. Geralt was still awake.  
He would have to explain.   
He did not want to explain. He just wanted to sleep.  
He could just turn around and climb back up and pretend this had never happened.  
However… the prospect of seeing Geralt right now…  
Maybe he would get him an extra blanket. Tuck him in. Promise to find a spare bed somehow. Pat his head until he‘d fallen asleep.  
Jaskier was already halfway to the house without really processing it. He slowly opened the terrace door and bowed his head as he squeezed his pile of blankets through, making more noise than he would have liked..  
As he walked through the kitchen and towards the living room his bare feet left a faint trace of mud on the tiles, but he was too concentrated on the figure in front of the fire to notice.   
The rustling of his blankets attracted Geralt’s attention and he looked up from his book. The surprise on his face quickly turned to a frown.  
“Jaskier?”  
“I– I’m sorry– I couldn’t– I haven’t slept properly for like the past week and I couldn’t fall asleep and I can’t stand it anymore, I’m really sorry. I just wanted to sleep on the couch or something, that’s all.” He broke off, feeling a sob build up in his chest.  
Geralt regarded him with a perplexed expression, before his face cleared somewhat. He closed his book and lay it on a nearby table as he got up from the chair.  
“Sorry– I didn’t mean to interrupt you, really, just keep reading, I’ll be fine with the light, yah?”  
He watched Geralt come over and offered no resistance when he took the blankets from him.  
“Geralt…?”   
“For a week, you said?”  
Jaskier nodded.  
While he had expected Geralt to feel guilty, seeing it colour his whole face now was too much for Jaskier‘s sleep-deprived mind.  
“No- please… I should have said something, this is not on you.”  
He let out a sigh and rubbed his eyes.  
“Can we talk about this tomorrow…? I can‘t–”  
Before he could carry on, Geralt took his elbow and led him up the stairs. At this point, Jaskier did not even care to ask what he had planned anymore, just followed and tried not to trip.  
They walked down the length of the hallway and into a room at the end of the corridor. It turned out to be Geralt’s bedroom. Jaskier would be lying if he denied that the sight of a proper bed did not almost move him to tears.  
“You sleep here tonight.” Geralt said into the darkness as he dropped the blankets on the bed. He began to unfold them, pushing the other blankets already occupying the space aside swiftly.  
“Here? But– that’s your bed… Where are you going to go?” Jaskier murmured when Geralt took his shoulders and gently pushed him over towards the bed.  
“Downstairs.”  
“But–”  
“No but.”  
Jaskier was pushed down on the bed and covered in his blankets. He looked up into Geralt’s face, already melting at the soft mattress and warmth surrounding him.   
“You don‘t have to sleep on the couch…”, Jaskier murmured indistinctly, thinking vaguely that the only thing that could make this better would be lying in Geralt‘s arms. Instead of taking up the offer, though, Geralt replied quietly:  
“Don‘t worry about it. I’m sorry. I should have noticed earlier… the barn was a terrible idea….”  
Jaskier answered with an incoherent murmur, already slipping off to sleep. He felt a hand touch his hair softly, giving it a small caress.  
“Sleep well.”  
A second later, Jaskier was gone.


End file.
